istor 


SamA^ols  RlAiv 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


PRESENTED  BY 

PROF.  CHARLES  A.  KOFOID  AND 

MRS.  PRUDENCE  W.  KOFOID 


Christopher  C'oliiinlm.- 


Christopher 

Gofumbus 

InR)etri 
and 

By  Sara  Agnes  Ryan 


ILLUSTRATED 


With  an  Introduction  by  Rev.  F.  X.  McCabe,  C.  M.,  LL.  D., 
President  of  De  Paul  University,  Chicago 


CHICAGO 

The  Mayer  and  Miller  Company 
1917 


-m-m 


Copyright,  1917, 
By  Sara  Agnes  Ryan 


^mgl|ts  of  Cttolumbus 


^  0n«  tlyat  cljarmsi  tljB  mor^  as  tt  ts  r^ah  mnre  fre- 
jqrttitllg.  "^ct,  for  all  tlf at,  tlfc  foorlh  knofosi  too  Itttk  of 
tlfts  fijoitbcrful  cljaractcr  anh  Ifta  more  6ionb«rful  tork. 

^f  tl|e  trutly  tere  tolb,  OToIxtmHug  If  as  hztxi  tl|c  most 
nsgUctcb  atth  tmknoto  of  all  tl}«  great  men  of  l|tstorg. 
(All  l|Oitorg  tere  henteh  l|tm  m  Itfe  anh  not  till  long 
after  \(\%  heatlf  hth  men  begm  to  aj^rectate  l|t»  adjiefte- 
ments.  ^e.  If ofe£rer,  songlf  t  none  of  tljesie  tljtngg.  ^t3 
6ia8  a  gtmple  sonl  filleh  63rtl|  a  yeamtng  to  bo  for  otlferg, 
^t35  fattl|  foas  of  tl|e  IftglfeBt  tgpe  anb  Ije  6jtsl|eh  all  men 
\xx  he  Hlesseh  mttlf  tl|at  same  fattly, 

"^xxtx  mnrlf,  tljerefore,  cannot  ke  txim  to  place  Iftm 
foljere  Ife  \xt\xyati^%.  %txxx  mnclf  cannot  ke  hrxaz  tljat  tl|e 
foorlh  of  tobag,  anh  parttcnlarlg  onr  xx^xi  ^mertca,  mag 
learn  Ifofo  mncl|  tt  otes  to  tlje  simple  faitlf  anh  vax- 
baotnteb  conrage  of  tl|e  Cireat  ^a6igator* 

^l|e  present  foork  foill  contriknte  not  a  little  to- 
foarbs  making  Colnmkns  ketter  knofon  in  tl|e  Ijmb  of 
tl|ose  enjo^ng  tl|e  frnits  of  l|is  genins-  ^is  life  Ijas 
httn  an  inspiration  to  tl|e  poet,  tlye  Ifistorian,  tlf e  artist, 

^n  tl|is  6olnme  tlf e  antl|or  l|as  kronglf t  togetlfer  tl|e 
gems  contriknteh  kg  "^oetrg,  ^istorg  anb  ^rt,**  ^Ije 
l|as  tl|en  6io£ten  a  keantifnl  crokin  anh  placeh  it  \X!^^n 
tlje  kroki  of  Ijim  kilfo  kelie^eh  in  l|is  Cloh  anb  hareh 
sacrifice  all  tlfat  otl|ers  migl|t  sljare  tl|at  kelieL 

^e  Paul  Ptttircrsttg,  C[ll|tcag0. 

^jeaat  of  i\z  yxaltalimt  of  i\\t  ^^oig  Crosa,  1916. 


jwf^i  Sf»«3 


Grateful  acknowledgments  are  hereby  ten- 
dered to  the  following  persons  and  publishers 
for  permitting  the  use  of  their  copyrighted 
poems : 

Miss  Harriet  Monroe ;  Major  S.  H.  M.  Byers ; 
Mr.  William  Allen  Butler,  for  his  father,  Wil- 
liam Allen  Butler;  Mr.  Louis  J.  Block;  C.  C. 
Birchard  &  Company,  for  John  Vance  Cheney; 
The  Catholic  World,  for  John  Jerome  Eooney, 
George  Parsons  Lathrop,  and  Mary  Agnes 
Tucker;  The  Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shephard  Co.,  for 
William  Gibson;  The  Houghton  Mifflin  Com- 
pany, for  John  T.  Trowbridge,  Edna  Dean 
Proctor  and  James  Kussell  Lowell;  The  Page 
Company,  for  Hezekiah  Butterworth;  The 
Prang  Company,  for  Emily  Shaw  Forman ;  Mr. 
Horace  Traubel,  for  Walt  Whitman. 

Sincere  gratitude  is  tendered  also  for  assist- 
ance in  the  illustrating  to  the  Art  Institute  of 
Chicago,  the  Boston  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  and 
to  Mr.  Franklin  Adams,  the  Editor  of  the  Pan- 
American  Union  Bulletin. 

If  copyrighted  material  has  been  used  with- 
out permission  it  has  been  done  unknowingly, 
or  because  the  efforts  to  locate  the  proper 
authorities  have  been  of  no  avail.  Corrections 
will  be  gratefully  received  and  acknowledged. 


AUTHORS  QUOTED  IN  THE  TEXTS : 


Louis  James  Block. 

Joanna  Baillie. 

Henry  Howard  Brownell. 

William  Allen  Butler. 

Hezekiah  Butterworth. 

S.  H.  M.  Byers. 

John  Vance  Cheney. 

Arthur  Hugh  Clough. 

B.  L.  Corbaria. 

W.  J.  Crandall. 

Front  de  Boeuf. 

Leonardo  de  Carminis. 

Aubrey  de  Vere. 

Giuliano  Dati. 

Delavigne. 

Maurice  Francis  Egan. 

Emily  Shaw  Forman. 

Philip  Freneau. 

William  Gibson. 

Edward  Everett  Hale. 

Benjamin  J.  Hill. 

George  Washington  Wright 

Houghton. 
George  Parsons  Lathrop. 
James  Russell  Lowell. 


E.  Bulwer  Lytton. 

Theadore  A.  Metcalf. 

Joel  Marlow. 

Harriet  Monroe. 

James  Montgomery. 

Henry  Nutcombe  Oxenham. 

Edna  Dean  Proctor. 

Reginald  C.  Bobbins. 

Samuel  Rogers. 

John  Jerome  Rooney. 

Albert  J.  Rupp. 

St.  Paul. 

Schiller. 

Lydia  Huntley  Sigourney. 

John  Lancaster  Spalding. 

Eliza  Allen  Starr. 

Alfred  Tennyson. 

May  Agnes  Tincker. 

J.  T.  Trowbridge. 

Henry  T.  Tuckerman. 

Henry  Vignaud. 

Walt  Whitman. 

J.  G.  Whittier. 

Wiffin. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Portrait  of  Columbus. 

Home  of  Columbus. 

The  Boy  Columbus. 

Doria  Palace  at  Genoa. 

La  Rabida  at  Huelva. 

Columbus  Asking  for  Bread  and  Water  for  His  Son 

at  the  Convent  of  La  Rabida. 
Columbus  Before  the  Council  at  Salamanca. 
The  Hall  of  the  Tribunal  of  Justice — the  Alhambra. 
Isabella  Pledging  Her  Jewels. 
Tombs  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  at  Granada. 
Columbus  Taking  Leave  of  Prior  Perez  at  Palos. 
The  Departure  of  Columbus. 
Columbus  on  Deck  of  the  Santa  Maria. 
Columbus   Received   by  the   Catholic   Sovereigns  at 

Barcelona. 
Columbus  in  Chains. 

Mausoleum  in  Cathedral  at  Santo  Domingo. 
Statue  at  Santo  Domingo. 
Monument  on  Watling's  Island. 
Monument  and  Fountain  at  Washington,  D.  C. 
Detail  of  Same. 
Statue  in  Lima,  Peru. 


CONTENTS. 


CHEISTOPHER  COLUMBUS, 

In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

Chapter  Page 

I.     The  Time,  the  Place  and  the  Man     17 

Genoa. 

II,     Preparation    31 

Portugal. 

III.  The  Agony  of  Suspense     37 

Spain. 

IV.  The  Great  Voyage 77 

The  Sea  of  Darkness. 

V.     The  Smile  of  a  King     115 

Barcelona. 

VI.     Ignominy  and  Death     129 

Valladolid. 

VII.     Posthumous  Glory   , 157 

Throughout  the  World. 

Lourdes  and  the  Eucharistic  Congress 167 

Some  Memories  of  Mexico 185 

Personal  Letters  and  Testimonials  to  Miss  Ryan  per- 
taining to  her  book,  ''Florence  in  Poetry,  His- 
tory and  Art" 223 


Home  of  Columbus's  Royhood,  Genoa 


Christopher  Columbus 

IN  POETRY,  HISTORY  AND  ART 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  TIME,  THE  PLACE  AND  THE  MAN: 
GENOA. 

There  are  urchins  still  playing  about  the 
doorway  of  No.  37,  Vico  dritto  del  Ponticello,  in 
Genoa,  the  building  owned  by  the  Municipality 
and  conserved  by  a  commission  appointed  for 
that  purpose. 

The  tablet  over  the  door  commemorates  in 
Latin  the  fact  that  *^No  house  better  deserves 
an  inscription.  This  is  the  paternal  home  of 
Christopher  Columbus,  in  which  he  passed  his 
boyhood  and  youth." 

Even  those  boys  playing  in  the  shadow  of 
that  building  have  a  special  interest  to  the  lov- 
er of  poetry,  of  history  and  of  art,  no  less  than 
to  the  philosopher  and  psychologist. 

Does  the  august  spirit  of  the  mighty  naviga- 
tor hover  near,  or  does  the  presence  of  that 
building  conserved  so  jealousy,  inspire  those 
fellow  citizens  to  lofty  ideals  ! 

Was  that  boy  who  played  there  so  long  ago 
conscious  of  the  career  to  which  he  was  called? 
What  presence  overshadowed  him,  and  what 
voices  whispered  his  destiny? 

17 


Christopher  Columbus. 

The  boy,  *'the  father  of  the  man,'^  is  shown 
to  us  in  the  Boston  Museum  of  Fine  Arts, 
wrought  in  marble  by  Giulio  Monteverde.  He 
is  seated  upon  a  post,  of  course  by  the  sea,  and 
is  dreaming  his  dreams  that  came  true  at  last, 
and  tore  asunder  the  veil  that  hid  the  one  half 
world.  But  that  early  time  of  his  childhood  is 
not  dwelt  upon  in  his  writings  and  it  is  only 
the  poets  ^  fancies  that  rehabilitate  it  for  us : 

^  ^  0  clouds !  Far  clouds  like  languages  that  rise, 
Blown  breath  made  visible  from  lips  all-wise ; 
Tracing  dim  characters  of  mystic  form, 
And  signs  of  wonder  in  the  distant  heaven; 
What  ^peak  ye  to  me?    Not  of  rolling  storm. 
Unrest,  or  tremulous  calm,  to  this  life  given: 
Nay!     But  a  message  from  the  farthest  skies, 
God^s  living  air, 
That  strangely  calls:    *  Arise, 
Go  forth,  and  bear!' 

So  spoke  the  heaven.    And  I,  Columbus,  heard ; 
Columbus,  the  gray  Admiral,  known  to  you. 
I,  from  the  twilight  hollows  of  the  past 
That  then  were  thrilled  with  dawn,  the  Word 
recall. 

Wind-buffeted  and  worn,  and  steeped  in  grief ; 
Salt  spray  and  bitter  tears  upon  my  face ; 
So  now  you  see  me.    But  I,  then,  was  young; 
And  there  at  Genoa  on  the  quay  I  dreamed 
And  saw  the  future.    Yea:     *  Arise,  go  forth^ 
And  bear!' 

18 


Giiilu  Monteverde 

The  I^>oy  Columbus 
In  the  lioston  Museum  of  Fine  Arts 


The  Time,  The  Place  and  The  Man. 

By  day  the  moving  shapes  of  cloud, 
Solemn  or  bright,  that  message  mutely  spelled ; 
As  though  the  speech  of  nations  age-long  dead 
Were  writ  in  shadowy  lines  upon  the  sky, 
Bidding  me  do  God^s  will!    At  night,  in  fire 
That  high  command  blazed  out  through  all  the 

stars, 
Whence  gleamed  the  gaze  of  wise  men  in  the 

past. 
But,  over  all,  God's  light  that  led  me  on. 

A  boy!  Yet  through  the  awful  stress  of  years, 
Of  storm  and  conflagration,  wreck  and  war, 
Of  men's  wild  strife  and  murder,  I  kept  the 

Faith, 
A  child's  faith,  pure." 

— George  Parsons  Lathrop, 

**The  crimson  sun  was  sinking  down  to  rest, 
Pavilioned  on  the  cloudy  verge  of  heaven ; 
And  ocean,  on  her  gently  heaving  breast, 
Caught  and  flashed  back  the  varying  tints  of 

even, 
When,  on  a  fragment  from  the  tall  cliff  riven, 
With    folded    arms,    and    doubtful    thoughts 

opprest, 
Columbus  sat,  till  sudden  hope  was  given — 
A  ray  of  gladness  shooting  from  the  West! 
0  what  a  glorious  vision  for  mankind 
Then  dawned  upon  the  twilight  of  his  mind — 
Though  shadowy  still,  but  indistinctly  grand!. 

19 


Christopher  Columbus. 

There  stood  his  genie,  face  to  face,  and  signed 
(So  legend  tells  us)  far  seaward  with  her  hand: 
Till  a  new  world  sprang  up,  and  bloomed  be- 
neath her  wand!*'        .   ,         j    tt 

—Aubrey  de  Vere, 

**I  know  not  when  this  hope  enthralled  me  first, 
But  from  my  boyhood  up  I  loved  to  hear 
The  tall  pine-forests  of  the  Apennines 
Murmur  their  hoary  legends  of  the  sea. 
Which  hearing,  I  in  vision  clear  beheld 
The  sudden  dark  of  tropic  night  shut  down 
O'er  the  huge  whisper  of  watery  wastes. 

To  this  one  hope  my  heart  hath  clung  for  many 

years, 
As  would  a  foundling  to  the  talisman 
Hung  round  his  neck  by  hands  he  knew  not 

whose ; 
A  poor,  vile  thing  and  dross  to  all  beside. 
Yet  he  therein  can  feel  a  virtue  left 
By  the  sad  pressure  of  a  mother's  hand. 

This  hope  hath  been  to  me  for  love  and  fame. 
Hath  made  me  wholly  lonely  on  the  earth, 
Building  me  up  as  in  a  thick-ribbed  tower. 
Wherewith  enwalled  my  watching  spirit  burned. 

****** 

While  other  youths  perplexed  their  mandolins. 
Praying  that  Thetis  would  her  fingers  twine 
In  the  loose  glories  of  her  lover's  hair, 

20 


The  Time,  The  Place  and  The  Man. 

And  while  another  kiss  to  keep  back  day, 
I,  stretched  beneath  the  many-centuried  shade 
Of  some  writhed  oak,  the  wood's  Laocoon, 
Did  of  my  Hope  a  dryad  mistress  make, 
Whom  I  would  woo  to  meet  me  privily. 
Or  underneath  the  stars,  or  when  the  moon 
Flecked  all  the    forest    floor    with    scattered 

pearls. 
0  days  whose  memory  tames  to  fawning  down 
The  surly  fell  of  ocean 's  bristled  neck ! ' ' 

— James  Russell  Lowell. 

The  TIME  had  reached  its  fullness:  the 
Turk  had  conquered  the  sometime  capital  of 
the  western  world,  Constantinople,  and  shut  o:ff 
the  PLACE'S  trade  with  the  East.  That  trade 
was  the  Place's  life-blood,  drained  by  the  wars 
which  rivalled  in  duration  those  of  the  Pelo- 
ponesus  in  the  East  and  of  the  Eoses  in  the 
West — of  that  time. 

Genoa  and  Venice  had  grappled  in  many  a 
death-clutch — the  two  leading  commercial  cen- 
ters of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  once  indeed  had 
Genoa  well-nigh  prostrated  her  rival.  That 
was  at  Chioggia,  told  about  in  song  and  story, 
and  Andrea  Doria  was  the  Genoese  leader. 

What  boy  in  Genoa  did  not  hear  of  that  fa- 
mous encounter,  and  who  in  all  Genoa  did  not 
and  does  not  know  the  Doria?  Why,  even  to 
this  day,  we  view  their  old  Palace  and  all  its 
ancient  treasures: 

21 


Christopher  Columbus. 

**This  house  was  Andrea   Doria's.      Here  he 

lived ; 
And  here  at  eve  relaxing,  when  ashore, 
Held  many  a  pleasant,  many  a  grave  discourse 
With  them  that  sought  him,  walking  to  and  fro 
As  on  his  deck.     ^Tis  less  in  length  and  breath 
Than  many  a  cabin  in  a  ship  of  war ; 
But  'tis  of  marble,  and  at  once  inspires 
The  reverence  due  to  ancient  dignity. 
He  left  it  for  a  better ;  and  'tis  now 
A  house  of  trade,  the  meanest  merchandise 
Cumbering  its  floors.    Yet,  fallen  as  it  is, 
'Tis  still  the  noblest  dwelling,  even  in  Genoa ! 

And  hadst  thou,  Andrea,  lived  there  to  the  last. 
Thou  hadst  done  well ;  for  there  is  that  without. 
That  in  the  wall,  which  monarchs  could  not 

give, 
Nor  thou    take    with    thee — that    which    says 

aloud, 
It  was  thy  country's  gift  to  her  deliverer." 

— Samuel  Rogers, 

*'Ah!  what  avails  it,  Genoa,  now  to  thee 
That  Doria,  feared    by   monarchs,    once    was 
thine? 
Univied  ruin !    In  thy  sad  decline 
From  virtuous  greatness,  what  avails  that  he 
Whose  prow  descended  first  the  Hesperian  sea. 
And  gave  our  world  her  mate  beyond  the 
brine, 

22 


The  Doria  Palace,  Genoa 


The  Time,  The  Place  and  The  Man. 

Was  nurtured,  whilst  an  infant,  at  thy  knee? — 
All  things  must  perish, — all  but  things  divine. ' ' 

— Aubrey  de  Vere. 

We  see  in  that  old  palace  another  Andrea 
Doria  painted  by  Titian  and  also  by  Sebastiano 
Piambo,  the  Venetians;  we  see  Charles  V  pre- 
senting a  dog  to  Andrea.  We  see  the  knocker 
of  the  door  sculptured  by  no  less  a  personage 
than  Benvenuto  Cellini,  the  Florentine. 

Tintoretto  painted  the  marriage  in  the  fam- 
ily which  occurred  in  941 — a  retrospection. 

In  the  old  church  of  San  Matteo  also  are  pre- 
served their  family  records  from  the  tenth  cen- 
tury to  the  present  time,  and  in  Rome,  in  the 
Corso,  is  their  still  more  famous  palace. 

Andrea  Doria  did  not  conquer  at  Chioggia, 
but  in  an  encounter  in  earlier  years,  a  prisoner 
of  war  was  brought  from  Venice  to  Genoa — 
none  other  than  the  renowned  Marco  Polo,  the 
traveler  in  the  dazzlingly  splendid  East. 

What  boy  of  Genoa  has  not  heard  recounted 
the  wonders  of  that  voyage,  written  in  the  pris- 
on of  his  city's  walls? 

And  what  boy  of  Genoa  did  not  see,  later  in 
the  centuries,  the  ships  of  his  native  land  ly- 
ing rotting  in  their  harbor,  their  masters  idle, 
and  their  trade  shut  off  by  the  Turks  after 
their  conquest  of  Constantinople? 

That  was  in  1453.  How  old  was  the  boy  at 
that  time,  who  heard  the  Divine  call  to  save  his 

23 


Christopher  Columbus. 

country,  to  open  that  other  door  to  the  East, 
closed  since  the  creation  of  the  world? 

*  *  Signs  have  been  set  for  me 
As  for  the  holy  men  of  old.    To  seek 
To  find  those  far-off  lands  and  that  near  way. 
That  western  way,  unto  the  Indian  shore — 
For  this  was  I  called  sunward  from  the  womb.'' 

— John  Vance  Cheney. 

Genoa,  browbeaten  by  her  great  rival,  ruined 
by  her  foreign  foe,  unsung  by  the  poets,  un- 
beautified  by  the  masters  of  the  arts,  was  the 
one  city  that  could  produce  the  Man  chosen 
to  surmount  and  surpass  all  that  science  and 
human  effort  had  heretofore  accomplished. 

Genoa  is  called  **La  Superba''  by  her  inhab- 
itants. She  is  also  called  The  City  of  Palaces, 
but  no  Shakespeare  has  told  of  her  Doges,  no 
poet  has  sung  of  her  warriors,  but  high  above 
all  poets  and  rulers  is  exalted  the  Man  who 
through  stupendous  effort  accomplished  the 
fulfillment  of  his  destiny. 

*  *  For  me,  I  have  no  choice ; 
I  might  turn  back  to  other  destinies, 
For  one  sincere  key  opes  all  Fortune's  doors; 
But  whoso  answers  not  God's  earliest  call 
Forfeits  or  dulls  that  faculty  supreme 
Of  lying  open  to  his  genius 
Which  makes   the   wise  heart   certain   of  its 

^^^^-  — James  Russell  Lowell. 

24 


The  Time,  The  Place  and  The  Man. 

**Not  mine  the  race  to  change, 
Or  make  new  men  who  better  should  disclose 
God's  likeness;  but  to  take  the  men  I  found 
And  mould  them,  rude,  to  servants  of  His  word. 
I,  rude  myself,  a  sailor,  full  of  faults. 
Yet  bending  still  to  Him  my  thoughts,  my  will, 
My  learning  and  my  act, — ^what  could  I  hope 
More  than  to  win  them  that  they,  too,  should 

bear 
The  sacred  burden,  and  help  carry  Christ 
Unto  the  far  new  land  o'er  seas  unknown? 

High  was  that  mission,  to  me  unworthy  given. 
But  hardship  trained  my  hands.     Firm  hope 

made  whole 
My  weakness ;  lending  to  my  spirit  wings 
Across  the  deep  to  fly.    When  hope  grew  frail. 
Sad  poverty  came,  and  with  her    slow    calm 

smile 
Gave  me  the  kiss  of  peace,  and  made  me  strong. 
So — dowered  with  patience,  hope,  faith,  char- 

ity- 
A  beggar  at  the  gates  of  that  New  World 
I  stood,  whose  key  I  held,  and  I  alone.'' 

— George  Parsons  Lathrop. 

Much  has  been  written  about  Christopher 
Columbus,  and  much  has  been  unwritten,  or 
denied. 

The  Journal  of  his  voyage  which  he  kept  for 
the  sovereigns,  is  no  longer  in  existence,  but 

25 


Christopher  Columbus. 

the  great  La  Casas,  the  ^'friend  of  the  Indi- 
ans, '  ^  was  son  of  one  who  had  made  the  voyage 
with  him,  and  he  had  recourse  to  all  his  papers, 
and  wrote  his  life,  which  is  preserved. 

Columbus  *s  son  Ferdinand  also  wrote  his 
biography,  which  later  day  ^^ wiseacres''  con- 
demn as  untruthful.  In  fact,  one  of  these  late 
** authorities "  writes  thus: 

**  Columbus  never  spoke  one  word  of  truth 
on  what  related  to  himself  personally;  and  his 
family,  on  this  point,  have  carefully  followed 
his  example.  Throughout  his  letters  and  writ- 
ings he  has  sprinkled  incorrect  statements, 
skillfully  devised,  with  the  object  either  of  ob- 
scuring certain  portions  of  his  life  or  of  hiding 
traces  of  his  origin;  and  in  fact,  these  state- 
ments have  resulted  in  the  creation 'of  a  sort  of 
conventional  history  as  to  the  formation  of  his 
ideas  and  the  causes  which  led  to  his  discovery. 

The  principal  disseminators  of  this  history 
were  Las  Casas  and  Ferdinand  Columbus,  and 
criticism  today  is  destroying  fragment  by  frag- 
ment this  falsification. 

Already  the  majority  of  the  lies  of  which  it  is 
composed  have  been  subjected  to  the  light  of 
truth,  and  by  degrees  we  are  beginning  to  form 
a  correct  notion  of  that  part  of  the  life  of  the 
crafty  Genoese,  he  and  his  have  been  pleased 
to  present  to  us  under  such  false  colors.*' 

— Henry  Vignaud. 
26 


The  Time,  The  Place  and  The  Man. 

Should  the  case  of  Columbus's  canonization 
be  called,  that  writer  might  be  considered 
a  self-appointed  ^^DeviPs  Advocate/'  only  in 
that  office  abuse  is  not  one  of  the  duties — nor 
prejudice ;  only  just  cause  for  defeat. 

So,  in  attempting  to  portray  Columbus  his- 
torically, one  may  get  into  a  hornet's  nest,  so 
certain  is  each  **  authority"  of  his  own  case  and 
of  all  others'  errors. 

We  shall  not  catalogue  the  writers  on  Colum- 
bus, nor  specify  the  **  authorities  ". 

In  the  first  place,  there  was  a  wrangle  as  to 
which  city  could  claim  his  birth;  even  now,  the 
date  of  that  event  is  disputed ;  Henry  Vignaud 
wrote  a  complete  volume,  setting  forth  the 
errors  of  all  other  ^* authorities"  and  settling 
forever,  to  his  own  satisfaction,  that  the  date  of 
Columbus 's  birth  is  the  year  1451. 

Next,  there  is  a  contradiction  that  he  ever  at- 
tended the  University  of  Pavia;  that  he  ever 
fought  such  and  such  sea-fights ;  that  he  went  to 
the  convent  of  La  Eabida  upon  his  first  en- 
trance to  Spain,  or  upon  his  rejection  after  the 
hearing  of  Salamanca;  that  he  married  Bea- 
triz  de  Arana — oh  my !  what  an  indignant  howl 
at  the  very  idea  of  that!  Henry  Harrisse,  the 
** great  authority,"  cannot  produce  facts,  but 
he  ^^ thinks"  that  Columbus's  first  wife  was 
living  when  he  met  Beatriz !  And  there  is  dis- 
pute even  as  to  where  his  remains  repose — for 
may  they  rest  in  peace ! 

27 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Let  us  be  thankful  that  we  are  allowed  to 
believe  that  there  was  such  a  man  as  Columbus, 
the  discoverer,  that  the  ^^authorities''  do  noty 
as  in  the  case  of  Shakespeare,  as  a  writer,  deny 
his  very  existence. 

Let  us  say  that  his  ancestors  had  furnished 
one  Admiral,  at  least,  in  that  city  where  sea- 
faring was  the  chief  occupation. 

Let  us  say,  also,  that  there  is  some  plaus- 
ibility in  the  tradition  Columbus  advanced  that 
the  family  had  at  one  time  been  noble. 

Noble  in  fact,  we  know  it  to  have  been,  and 
noble  in  title  also  it  may  have  been,  when  title 
was  all  that  could  lift  one  from  the  masses. ' 

We  have  no  word  pictures  of  that  family 
gathered  round  the  sturdy  mother  and  honest 
wool-comber — the  four  boys  with  their  little 
sister:  Christopher,  the  dreamer,  the  genius; 
Bartholomew,  the  sturdy,  the  reliable  one; 
Pelegrino,  the  delicate,  who  passed  away  early 
in  youth;  Diego,  the  pious,  who  assumed  Holy 
Orders,  and  Biancinetta,  the  sister,  who  wedded 
a  tradesman  and  died  ^^unhonored  and  un- 
sung. ' ' 

Christopher  was  sent  to  the  University  of 
Pavia — records  in  that  building  attesting  that 
fact,  as  well  as  a  monument  placed  there  to 
commemorate  it,  and  a  pinch  of  the  great  man's 
ashes  is  one  of  its  priceless  treasures. 

Genoa  honors  her  son  whom  she  did  not  rec- 
ognize in  life.    Her  frescoed  palaces  show  forth 

28 


The  Time,  The  Place  and  The  Man. 


Ms  glory,  the  Municipal  Palace  in  particular, 
being  rich  in  mementoes  of  him,  having  pre- 
served in  a  golden  urn  a  pinch  of  his  ashes  pre- 
sented to  the  Municipality  by  the  Archbishop  of 
Santo  Domingo,  when  his  body  was  brought  to 
light  in  1877.  Also  in  magnificent  encasement 
are  his  authentic  letters  and  his  Book  of  Privi- 
leges, showing  the  grants  made  to  him  by  the 
Spanish  sovereigns  at  the  time  of  his  first  voy- 
age. The  bag  in  which  they  were  preserved  is 
there,  too.  With  them,  in  the  Council  Chamber, 
are  two  large  mosaics,  one  of  Columbus  and  one 
of  that  other  famous  traveler  and  prisoner  of 
the  city,  who  was  treated  as  a  guest,  Marco 
Polo.    Those  were  placed  here  in  1867. 

A  large  fresco  shows  us  Columbus  at  the 
Court  of  Spain. 

The  Palazzo  Eosso,  the  Eed  Palace^  contains 
an  inspiring  group  wrought  by  the  sculptor 
Eaggi,  and  erected  by  the  Municipality  in  1851. 
Columbus  is  shown,  chart  in  hand,  leading  forth 
to  the  promised  land.  The  base  shows  in  relief 
the  three  ships.  In  the  cathedral  is  a  plan,  in 
bronze,  showing  Genoa  as  it  was  in  Columbus's 
time. 

The  old  bank  of  St.  George  is  still  standing, 
a  tablet  commemorating  the  fact  that  he  had 
appointed  it  executor  of  his  will. 

A  monument  erected  by  the  *^Patria"  ac- 
knowledges him  as  her  own,  and  she  celebrated 
wdth  fitting  ceremonies  the  four  hundredth  an- 

29 


Christopher  Columbus. 

niversary  of  his  great  voyage,  there  being  fifty- 
two  warships  in  her  harbor,  sent  to  honor  the 
foremost  Admiral  of  all  ages,  while  the  old  bell, 
cracked  in  ringing  out  tidings  joyous  to  her, 
was  recast  so  as  to  peal  forth  the  great  event 
renewed;  and  music  lent  her  charms  also,  for 
the  story  was  sung  in  the  form  of  Operas,  com- 
posed in  1828  by  Morlachi,  and  later  by  Fran- 
chetti;  but  so  inspiring  is  his  story,  that  more 
than  a  dozen  operas  have  it  for  their  motif, 
while  Eichard  Wagner  sets  it  forth  in  the  form 
of  an  overture.  As  to  the  dramatists,  they  of 
practically  all  countries  have  recognized  the  in- 
spiration of  the  theme  and  have  produced  it 
successfully  upon  the  stage;  also  poets  with- 
out number  have  sung  the  lofty  theme. 

*^ Gently,  as  roses  die,  the  day  declines; 
On  the  charmed  air  there  is  a  hush  the  while ; 
And  delicate  are  the  twilight  tints  that  smile 
Upon  the  summits  of  the  Apennines. 
The  moon  is  up ;  and  o  ^er  the  warm  wave  shines 
A  fairy  bridge  of  light,  whose  beams  beguile 
The  fancy  to  some  secret  summer  isle 
Where  Love  may  dwell,  which  only  Love  di- 
vines. 
The  blue  light  of  Italian  summer  falls 
Around  us ;  over  the  crystalline  swell 
I  see  the  lamps  lit  in  her  tier  of  halls 
And  bid  to  Genoa  the  Superb  farewell. 
Home  of  Columbus!    Having  dwelt  in  thee, 
I  dream  of  undiscovered  lands  at  sea!'* 

30       — William  Gibson. 


CHAPTER  II. 


PREPARATION: 

PORTUGAL. 

^*At  fourteen  years  my  home 
Was  on  the  sea, — the  sea,  great  Nature 's  pulse, 
The  test  and  measure  of  her  mighty  heart. 
And  East  and  West  and  North  and  South  I 

rode. 
In  heat  and  cold,  in  peace  and  changeful  war, 
Till,  met  with  many  lands  and  many  men, 
Roman  and  Greek,  Indian  and  greedy  Moor, 
From  each  I  had  each  littlest  thing  might  serve 
My  life's  one  purpose.    Both  tradition  grave 
And  thousand  noiser  voices  of  the  hour 
I  heeded ;  reason  heard,  and  fancy,  who 
Has  wisdom  also,  all  her  golden  own. ' ' 

— John  Vance  Cheney. 

After  some  years  of  coast  service,  Christo- 
pher arrived  at  Portugal,  where  his  brother 
Bartholomew  was  harbored  before  him.  It  was 
the  one  haven  for  the  Genoese  still  hearkening 
to  the  lure  of  the  sea — nay,  more  than  that, 
Portugal  may  be  called  the  University  of  mari- 
time explorations,  presided  over  by  the  mon- 
arch justly  styled  **The  Navigator'' — Prince 
Henry. 

31 


Christopher  Columbus. 

At  that  University  the  question  propounded 
was:  Can  a  new  route  to  India  be  found 
around  the  southern  coast  of  Africa?  The 
question  was  paramount,  likewise,  to  all  civil- 
ized Europe,  for  though  Genoa's  trade  suffered 
most  directly  through  the  fall  of  Constantino- 
ple to  the  Turks,  as  her  route  had  lain  for  cen- 
turies through  the  Black  and  Caspian  Seas, 
past  that  city, — Venice  also  was  harassed  as 
were  the  Hanseatic  Cities. 

Why  was  Portugal  the  leader  in  solving  that 
problem?  As  the  Turks  came  into  Europe 
through  Constantinople,  Portugal  had  driven 
them  forth  from  her  kingdom  and  had  pursued 
them  far  into  Africa ;  therefore  Africa  was  not 
unknown  to  her,  and  her  bold  captains  had  dis- 
covered and  were  even  now  settling  islands  ly- 
ing off  that  coast. 

All  knowledge  which  bore  upon  the  subject  of 
a  new  route  to  India  was  renovated.  The  writ- 
ings of  the  great  thinkers  upon  that  subject  and 
upon  the  spheroidity  of  the  earth — Aristole, 
Ptolemy  and  Roger  Bacon,  were  thoroughly 
sifted,  and  the  history  of  the  doers,  Leif  Eric- 
son,  Marco  Polo,  and  Sir  John  Mandeville, 
was  read  and  discussed  with  avidity. 

Ptolemy  had  maintained  that  a  great  contin- 
ent lay  to  the  south  of  Africa,  and  therefore 
blocked  the  southern  way  to  India.  His  geog- 
raphy had  been  the  standard  text  book  for 
twelve  centuries,  or  until  Columbus'  voyage. 

32 


Preparation. 

A  Spanish  writer  named  Mela  thought  that 
though  a  continent  lay  there,  it  was  not  con- 
nected directly  with  either  Asia  or  Africa. 

These  were  the  thinkers,  and  their  theories 
were  finally  to  be  tested. 

PortugaPs  seamen  had  reached  as  far  as  the 
coast  of  Guinea,  and  now  were  to  push  farther. 

In  1471  that  was  done. 

'But  though  they  crossed  the  equator,  and 
sailed  on  and  on,  no  passage  could  they  find 
past  Africa,  for  it  still  fronted  them  in  an  un- 
broken barrier.  So  they  returned  and  re- 
ported that  Ptolemy  as  right,  and  that  even 
should  a  passage  be  found  around  the  southern 
coast,  the  way  was  long,  so  long  that  it  was  out 
of  the  question  to  follow  it. 

So  also,  later,  did  the  seamen  sent  out  sur- 
reptiously  by  King  John  to  test  Columbus's 
theory  of  sailing  westward,  return  and  protest 
that  no  land  was  to  be  found.,  in  that  vast  ex- 
panse of  sea. 

But  Columbus  was  the  Man  of  the  Hour.  He 
was  the  thinker,  and  knew  of  the  subject  all 
that  had  been  known  before  him;  he  had  seen 
and  conversed  with  many  other  thinkers,  and 
he  well  might  say,  what  Alfred  Tennyson  puts 
into  the  mouth  of  that  other  great  wanderer  of 
olden  times,  Ulysses: 

**I  am  a  part  of  all  that  I  have  met.'* 
33 


Christopher  Columbus. 

But  Columbus  was  more  than  a  thinker,  he 
was  emphatically  a  doer. 

What  boots  it,  if  he  had  sailed  to  Iceland  or 
not?  Did  not  he  know  the  story  of  the  Norse- 
men finding  regions  far  to  the  north  and  west? 
Did  not  he  know  all  about  far  Cathay — the 
China  of  Marco  Polo — ^with  the  ocean  to  the 
east?  That  ocean  to  the  east  of  China,  surely 
was  one  and  the  same  ocean  as  that  to  the  west 
of  Europe !  Did  not  he  know  that  the  earth  was 
round  as  proved  by  Ptolemy,  for  could  not  he 
see  the  shadow  of  the  earth  when  cast  upon 
the  moon  in  an  eclipse  to  be  round,  and  had  not 
he  time  and  again  seen  the  tops  of  the  masts  of 
ships  at  sea  before  he  saw  the  hulls,  as  the  ves- 
sels slowly  rounded  the  curve  of  ocean's 
breast? 

Had  not  he  pondered  and  dreamed  the  an- 
swer to  the  question  the  King's  official  sent  to 
the  foremost  astronomer  and  geographer  of 
the  age — the  great  Florentine,  Toscanelli — 
'*Can  we  reach  land  by  sailing  westward?" 
That  was  in  1472.  Columbus  wrote  that  same 
question  to  the  Florentine  and  received  the 
same  answer  sent  to  the  official  Martins;  and 
he  received  besides,  great  encouragement  in  his 
expressed  desire  to  undertake  the  voyage  to 
prove  it.  Not  only  that,  but  the  astronomer's 
chart  was  forwarded  to  him. 

But  King  John,  as  we  know,  proved  false. 


34 


Prepabation. 

Columbus,  taking  his  orphan  son,  Diego,  by 
the  hand,  left  Portugal. 

What  had  that  country  done  for  him?  Doubt- 
less not  a  little.  Besides  enhancing  his  educa- 
tional ideas  he  had  met  there  and  had  loved 
and  wedded  the  daughter  of  a  renowned  Ital- 
ian navigator,  Perestrello. 

He  had  lived  many  years  there  on  the  sea- 
shore at  Lisbon  and  also  on  the  island  of  Porto 
Santo,  where  the  homes  of  his  wife's  family 
may  yet  be  seen. 


35 


(lolinnl)iis  at  the  Convent  of  liji  Ra))i(l{i 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  AGONY  OF  SUSPENSE: 
SPAIN. 

HUELVA  AND  PALOS: 
LA  EABIDA. 

**Iii  Rabida's  monastic  fane 

I  cannot  ask,  and  ask  in  vain, — 

The  language  of  Castile  I  speak; 

Mid  many  an  Arab,  many  a  Greek, 

Old  in  the  days  of  Charlemagne, 

When  minstrel  music  wandered  round, 

And  science,  waking,  blessed  the  sound. 

No  earthly  thought  has  here  a  place. 
The  cowl  let  down  on  every  face; 
Yet  here,  in  consecrated  dust. 
Here  would  I  sleep,  if  sleep  I  must. 

From  Genoa  when  Columbus  came, 
(At  once  her  glory  and  her  shame) 
'Twas  here  he  caught  the  holy  flame ; 
'Twas  here  the  generous  vow  he  made; 
His  banners  on  the  altar  laid. 

Here,  tempest-worn  and  desolate, 
A  Pilot,  journeying  thro  the  wild, 
Stopt  to  solicit  at  the  gate 
A  pittance  for  a  child. 

37 


Christopher  Columbus. 

'Twas  here,  unknowing  and  unknown, 
He  stood  upon  the  threshold-stone. 
But  hope  was  his — a  faith  sublime. 
That  triumphs  over  place  and  time; 
And  here,  his  mighty  labor  done 
And  his  course  of  glory  run. 
Awhile  as  more  than  man  he  stood, 
So  large  the  debt  of  gratitude!'' 

— Samuel  Rogers. 

La  Eabida,  an  old  fortress  of  the  Moors  on 
the  border-line  of  their  possession — the  word 
in  their  language  meaning  frontier — and  later 
a  Franciscan  monastery  dedicated  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin  and  renamed  St.  Mary  of  La 
Rabida,  is  on  a  promontory  a  short  distance 
out  of  the  port  of  Palos  in  the  town  of  Huelva, 
and  is  now  conserved  by  the  Spanish  govern- 
ment as  one  of  its  most  famous  monuments, 
and  its  prior,  Juan  Perez  de  Marchena,  shall 
ever  be  associated  with  the  memory  of  Col- 
umbus. 

The  building  was  reproduced  in  Chicago  at 
the  World's  Columbian  Exposition  and  it  was 
there  rich  in  relics  and  mementoes  of  the  great 
man.  The  souvenir  of  that  display  was  pre- 
pared by  the  late  William  E.  Curtis,  and  it  is 
a  condensed  history  of  the  explorer's  life. 

The  replicas  of  the  three  caravels — now 
lacking  one — ^which  left  Palos  under  the  aus- 

38 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

pices  of  Juan  Perez  are  still  moored  in  the 
lagoon  at  Jackson  Park,  but  a  more  lasting 
tribute  to  Columbus  was  erected  in  the  city, 
the  Columbus  Memorial  Building,  rich  in 
Venetian  mosaic  showing  scenes  from  his 
momentous  history. 

The  relics  from  La  Eabida  in  Jackson  Park 
have  been  removed,  but  the  building  itself  re- 
mains, used  as  a  free  Sanitarium  for  sick 
babies — a  fitting  charity  commemorative  of 
that  great  charity  which  prompted  the  noble 
Prior  of  the  real  monastery  to  open  his  heart 
and  soul  and  intellect  to  the  weary  and  heart- 
sick pilgrim  with  his  child,  whom  heaven  had 
guided  to  his  gate. 

^^And    now,    a    way-worn     traveller,     where, 

Eabida, 
Thy  lonely  convent  overlooks  the  sea, 
(Soon  to  be  furrowed  by  ten  thousand  keels), 
He  waits,  preferring  no  immodest  suit — 
A  little  bread  and  water  for  his  boy. 
Overtasked  with  travel!  then  the  welcome  in, 
And  the  good  friar — saints  receive  his  soul!** 

— Henry  Howard  Brownell. 

Fra  Juan  Perez  Marchena  did  not  entertain 
an  angel  unawares,  no,  it  was  given  to  him  to 
pierce  through  the  human  veil  and  to  meet  him 
soul  to  soul. 

39 


Christopher  Columbus. 

^*Juan  Perez*  faith 

Who  heard  him  and  conceived  his  words    no 

wraith 
Of  fevered  fancy,  but  the    very    truth,    was 

light 
To  bring  the  Queen    to    know    his    purposes 

*  — Louis  James  Block. 

**He  took  them  in,  he  gave  them  food; 
The  traveller's  dreams  he  heard; 
And  fast  the  midnight  moments  flew, 
And  fast  the  good  man's  wonder  grew. 
And  all  his  heart  was  stirred. 

The  child  the  while,  with  soft,  sweet  smile. 

Forgetful  of  all  sorrow. 

Lay  soundly  sleeping  in  his  bed — 

The  good  man  kissed  him  then,  and  said, 

*You  leave  us  not  tomorrow! 

I  pray  you  rest  the  convent's  guest; 
The  child  shall  be  our  own — 
A  precious  care,  while  you  prepare 
Your  business  with  the  court,  and  bear 
Your  message  to  the  throne.' 

And  so  the  guest  he  comforted. 

O  wise,  good  priori  to  you. 

Who  cheered  the  stranger's  darkest  days 

And  helped  him  on  his  way,  what  praise 

And  gratitude  are  due!" 

— John  T.  Trowbridge. 

40 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

Very  fitting  it  is  that  a  cross  should  now 
mark  the  spot  of  that  meeting  at  the  convent 
gate  and  fitting  also  that  the  Monastery  should 
contain  memorials  of  that  momentous  event — 
which  were  so  lacking  on  the  occasion  of  the 
pilgrimage  there  by  Washington  Irving  after 
the  writing  of  his  great  biography. 

Some  one  has  said  that  next  to  being  a  great 
poet  is  the  power  of  understanding  one.  We 
say,  that  next  to  being  a  great  personage  in 
whatever  rank  of  life,  is  the  power  of  appre- 
ciating one,  and  next  to  Christopher  Columbus 
in  the  discovery  of  America — even  before  Isa- 
bella, Queen  of  Castile  and  Leon — for  what 
had  he  to  gain? — ^will  ever  stand  the  humble 
friar  whose  encouragement  and  influence  arid 
moral  suasion  and  prayers  made  possible  what 
even  the  stupendous  determination  and  perse- 
verance of  Columbus  himself  could  not  accom- 
plish. 

*'An  ancient  convent,  too,  there  seems 

That  stands  on  rising  ground. 
Which  o'er  a  sea-lashed  coast  uprears — 

Pine  trees  are  waving  round. 

In  such,  begirt  with  map  and  chart. 

That  navigator  bold. 
With  Friar  Juan  Perez,  once. 

Did  many  a  conference  hold. 


41 


Christopher  Columbus. 

In  such  he  sat,  in  musing  mood, 

When  thoughts  his  brain  would  rack — 

As  o'er  a  visioned  ocean  waste, 
A  phantom  ship  he'd  track. 

In  fancy,  to  a  distant  clime. 
Of  fair  and  shadowy  bowers. 

Where  birds  of  gorgeous  colored  plumes 
Winged  over  radiant  flowers; 

Where  animals  of  fancy  foot. 

More  fleet  than  eye  had  seen. 
Were  roving — to  his  dreamy  thought — 

Amid  savannah's  green; 

And  where,  through  shade  of  spicy  trees, 

The  gentle  natives  there, 
With  diamond  eyes  and  glittering  smiles. 

And  dark,  luxuriant  hair, 

Were  culling  fruits  of  luscious  taste, 

Or  silvered  barks  they  plied 
Adown  the  shining  azure  streams. 

Whose  waters — pearls  should  hide. 

Oh,  many  a  vision  such,  was  his 

Ere  he  a  sail  unfurled — 
Ere  monarch's  might  would  grant  him  aid 

To  find  our  blessed  world! 

42 


The  Agony  op  Suspense. 

And  once — from  forth  such  convent's  gates 

That  noble  seaman  rode 
And  with  his  tlioughts  so  high — alone — 

He  sought  a  king's  abode. 

'Twas  military  bustle  all, 

As  Colon  lighted  down — 
Alone — unknowing  and  unknown — 

In  Cordova's  old  town." 

— Emily  Shaw  Forman, 


43 


Christopher  Columbus. 


CORDOVA. 


Keeping  his  son  at  La  Rabida — and  inci- 
dentally we  may  remark  that  those  who  en- 
joy their  history  clothed  in  the  romantic  set- 
ting of  fiction,  might  read  **The  Son  of  Colum- 
bus,'^ by  Mollie  Elliot  Sewell,  as  she  treats 
of  the  periods  during  which  he  was  an  inmate 
of  the  convent  and  page  at  the  Court  of  Isa- 
bella— Fra  Juan  Perez  sent  Columbus  forth 
armed  with  a  letter  which  he  felt  certain  would 
obtain  an  audience  with  the  sovereigns.  No,  the 
letter  did  not  obtain  an  audience  with  the  sov- 
ereigns, nor  even  one  with  the  personage  to 
whom  it  was  addressed,  Fernando  de  Talavera, 
his  successor  as  confessor  of  Isabella. 

Talavera  was  a  high  personage  at  court,  and 
it  was  all  very  well  for  his  simple,  visionary, 
humble  friend  to  be  taken  in  by  a  strolling  ad- 
venturer, but  he — archbishop  was  he? — had 
more  prudence.  He  did  not  ignore  the  letter 
entirely,  but  he  practiced  courtly  manners, 
utilized  his  anti-room,  in  which  humble  sup- 
pliants bided  his  good  pleasure. 

Day  by  day  the  high  hopes  of  Columbus 
sank,  and  day  by  day  dwindled  the  small  store 
of  funds  with  which  the  good  friar  had  pro- 
vided him.  Fernando  de  Talavera  did  not  ob- 
tain for  him  an  audience  with  Isabella,  nor  did 

44 


The  Agony  op  Suspense. 

any  friend  come  forth  to  assist  him.  In  des- 
peration he  himself  penned  a  letter  to  the  sov- 
ereigns, setting  forth  his  pleas,  but  as  is  the 
fate  of  all  such  letters,  it  was  unnoticed  and 
unanswered. 

He  was  poor,  he  was  shabby,  he  was  treated 
with  contempt,  if  not  with  distrust;  he  had  the 
responsibility  of  his  young  son,  unfit  to  endure 
the  hardships  of  that  venturesome  voyage, 
should  he  succeed  in  undertaking  it,  and  now 
appeared  one  moved  with  pity  and  also  with 
love,  but  one,  alas,  who  has  become  in  these 
late  years  the  unconscious  and  innocent  occa- 
sion of  the  crowning  infamy  heaped  upon  his 
head — Beatriz  Enriquez  de  Arana,  his  second 
wife  and  the  mother  of  his  son  Ferdinand 
whom  most  writers  stigmatize  as  illegitimate. 

In  Cordova  we  see  the  house  which  was  oc- 
cupied by  the  family  of  Beatriz,  now  used  as 
a  hotel  of  secondary  rank. 

It  is  opposite  the  old  Moorish  mosque  which, 
next  to  the  Alhambra,  ranks  as  a  type  of  archi- 
tecture so  intricate  and  beautiful  and  called 
for  them,  and  the  gate  through  which  Columbus 
entered  the  town  is  now  called  by  his  name. 

Beatriz  Enriquez  de  Arana  was  a  young 
lady  of  noble  birth,  guarded  and  honored  as 
are  all  ladies  of  her  rank. 

Those  familiar  with  the  rigid  etiquette  of 
the  southern  countries,  and  of  Spain  in  par- 
ticular, where  the  people's  most  striking  char- 

45 


Christopher  Columbus. 

acteristic  after  personal  loyalty  to  the  king 
and  devotion  to  the  church,  was  ^*the  point  of 
honor, '^  may  well  marvel  how  a  stranger  with 
impunity  could  harm  so  mortally  one  of  her 
station.  Could  Spanish  pride  brook  such  dis- 
honor to  their  house! 

Her  brothers  were  his  friends.  Later  the 
son  of  one  of  them,  and  on  another  voyage  the 
father  himself,  sailed  with  Columbus  across 
the  sea. 

What  man  could  see  his  sister  thus  degraded 
and  still  smile  and  call  the  villain  friend? 

**But,*'  maintains  a  historian,  '^  there  is  no 
record  of  the  marriage.''  Because  no  record 
of  the  marriage  has  been  found,  therefore, 
there  is  no  marriage ! 

^^And,*'  writes  another,  **  there  is  no  record 
of  the  christening  of  the  son.*' 

We  are  tempted  to  exclaim,  '^Ye  gods  and 
little  fishes!'' 

Can  anyone  who  has  read  Columbus'  epistles 
and  the  messages  he  sent  to  the  sovereigns  of 
Spain,  in  which  he  implores  them  to  have  a 
care  for  the  souls  of  the  savages,  to  send  mis- 
sionaries to  convert  them;  who  considers  him- 
self to  have  been  called  especially  by  Provi- 
dence to  open  up  the  way  to  that  unknown 
land  for  the  light  of  the  gospel;  who  deems 
himself  literally  to  be  Christopher,  ''Christ- 
bearer*^ — carrying  Him  across  the  waters  as 
did  his  protonym  of  old — 

46 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

Could  anyone  sanely  imagine  that  one  not 
acknowledged  and  professedly  a  deep-dyed 
hyprocrite,  could  thus  neglect  the  baptism  of 
his  own  son? 

**Well,''  writes  another,  *4f  Beatriz  were 
his  wife,  strange  he  did  not  place  her  on  his 
vice-regal  throne  in  the  New  World !^' 

Heaven  save  the  mark!  Where  was  that 
throne!  Was  it  there,  on  the  island  of  Hayti, 
in  the  fort  he  built  with  the  wreckage  of  his 
vessel,  and  in  which  he  left  a  handful  of  his 
men  to  maintain  it?  The  men,  alas,  of  whom 
he  found  no  remains  on  his  return  but  a  few 
scattered  bones! 

Was  it  there,  on  the  islands  after  his  second 
voyage,  where  his  life  and  that  of  his  crew 
were  in  danger  from  the  savages,  and  where 
he  lay  sick  unto  death? 

Was  it  the  one  from  which  Bobadilla  plucked 
him  and  loaded  him  with  chains,  and  sent  him 
back  to  Spain  in  ignominy? 

Was  it  the  pestilential  swamp  upon  which 
he  was  imprisoned  by  the  loss  of  his  old,  rick- 
ety, worm-eaten  vessel,  given  him  by  his  sover- 
eigns to  get  rid  of  him — his  fourth  voyage? 

Perhaps  his  vice-regal  throne  was  the  inn  in 
Vallalodid  in  which  he  bided  almost  as  a  beg- 
gar, while  the  fruits  of  his  labor  were  withheld 
from  him,  and  the  ingratitude  and  injustice  of 
the  sovereigns  well-nigh  crushed  his  soul. 

47 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Count  Roselly  de  Lorgues  undertook  to  trace 
the  origin  of  the  scandal  and  found  that  one 
hundred  years  after  the  death  of  Columbus,  a 
librarian,  noticing  the  codicil  of  his  will  in 
which  he  exhorts  his  son  Diego  to  pay  to 
Beatriz  Enriquez  certain  sums,  for  his  con- 
science troubled  him  in  regard  to  her,  immedi- 
ately took  pen  and  wrote  down  the  stigma  of 
illegitimacy  against  her  son. 

Was  not  that  librarian  cognizant  of  the  cus- 
tom in  Spain  at  that  date  and  at  a  later  date — 
of  husbands  referring  to  their  wives  by  their 
maiden  names? 

Note  this  quotation  from  one  of  Spain's 
greatest  writers,  Cervantes,  in  **Don  Quix- 
ote:'' 

**Why,  should  this  come  to  pass,"  quoth 
Sancho  Panza,  **and  I  be  made  king  by  some 
such  miracle  as  your  worship  says,  then  Joan 
Guthierez  (my  mis 'ess)  would  be  at  least  a 
queen  and  my  children  infantas." 

So  vigorously  and  ably  did  the  count  vindi- 
cate Columbus'  memory  that  the  Holy  Father 
commended  his  work,  and  as  if  the  blot  thus 
wiped  out  had  been  the  only  obstacle  to  the 
highest  honor  mortal  flesh  is  heir  to,  petitions 
were  immediately  prepared  and  they  were 
signed  by  the  Fathers  of  the  Vatican  Council 
that  the  cause  of  his  canonization  be  intro- 
duced. 

That  is  not  yet  done. 

48 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

In  a  work  upon  Columbus,  written  later 
than  that  by  Count  Roselly  de  Lorgues,  the 
Rev.  E.  A.  G.  Knight  treats  the  subject  of 
Beatriz  Enriquez  ably  and  scholarly,  and 
makes  mention  that  documents  throwing  fur- 
ther light  on  the  marriage  were  discovered :  one 
by  Rev.  Raymond  Buldio  at  Valencia,  and  an- 
other by  Rev.  Marcellino  de  Civezza  in  the  li- 
brary of  the  Royal  Academy  of  History  at 
Madrid.  He  also  mentions  an  article  in 
L  'Univers,  of  January  11,  1877. 

Should  the  Holy  See  think  fit  to  have  the 
subject  of  Columbus'  canonization  introduced 
one  would  think  that  sufficient  documents 
might  be  found  in  the  Vatican  library,  as  Rome 
took  a  most  vital  interest  in  the  New  World 
and  all  that  pertain  thereto,  the  line  of  de- 
markation  having  been  adjusted  by  Alexan- 
der VI. 

As  the  historians,  almost  without  exception, 
have  jumped  at  conclusions  in  regard  to  the 
matter  which  troubled  Columbus'  conscience  in 
regard  to  Beatriz  Enriquez,  we  feel  justified 
in  giving  our  version  also,  and  that  is,  that 
Columbus  was  troubled,  not  because  he  did  not 
marry  Beatriz — for  what  hindered  his  doing 
so  ? — but  that  he  did  marry  her. 

His  temperament  was  so  intensely  spiritual 
and  his  mission  was  so  lofty,  that  the  Divine 
injunction  to  ^* leave  all  and  follow  Me"  was 
not  beyond  his  ability  to  obey. 

49 


Christopher  Columbus. 

It  may  be,  that  as  the  Disciples  of  the  Mas- 
ter left  their  wives  to  follow  Him,  Columbus 
and  Beatriz  parted  by  mutual  consent  and  for 
the  better  fulfillment  of  his  mission. 

^^ Columbus  and  Beatriz"  is  the  title  of  a 
novel  by  Constance  Goddard  Du  Bois,  in  which 
the  author  tenderly  and  graphically  portrays 
the  love  story  of  the  two  characters.  She  takes 
as  her  motif  the  relationship  as  upheld  by 
Count  Eoselly  de  Lorgues,  and  the  severing  of 
the  marriage  tie  by  Columbus'  vow,  taken  in 
time  of  stress  and  storm. 

However,  to  return  to  Columbus'  mission — 
when  in  Cordova  the  Grand  Chancellor  of  Cas- 
tile, Mendoza,  finally  procured  for  Columbus 
a  hearing  by  the  sovereigns. 

We  may  imagine  his  plea  to  Ferdinand : 

** Illustrious  monarch  of  Iberian's  soil, 
Too  long  I  wait  permission  to  depart; 

Sick  of  delays,  I  beg  thy  listening  ear — 
Shine  forth  the  patron  and  the  prince  of  art. 

While  yet  Columbus  breathes  the  vital  air, 
Grant  his  request  to  pass  the  western  main; 

Reserve  this  glory  for  thy  native  soil. 
And,  what  must  please  thee  more,  for  thy 
own  reign. 

Of  this  huge  globe,  how  small  a  part  we  know; 
Does  heaven  their  worlds  to  western  suns 
deny  ? 

50 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

How  disproportioned  to  the  mighty  deep 
The  lands  that  yet  to  human  prospect  lie! 

Does  Cynthia,  when  to  western  skies  arrived, 
Spend  her  moist  beam  upon  the  barren  main, 

And  ne'er  illume  with  midnight  splendor,  she. 
The  natives  dancing  on  the  lightsome  plain? 

Should  the  vast  circuit  of  the  world  contain 
Such  wastes  of  ocean  and  such  scanty  land? 

'Tis  reason's  voice  that  bids  me  think  not  so; 
I  think  more  nobly  of  the  Almighty  Hand. 

Does  yon  fair  lamp  trace  half    the    circle 

round 
To  light  mere  waves  and  monsters  of  the 

sea? 
No;  be  there  must,  beyond  the  billowy  waste. 
Islands,  and  men,   and  animals,  and  trees. 

An  unremitting  flame  my  breast  inspires 
To  seek  new  lands  amid  the  barren  waves, 

Where,  falling  low,  the  source  of  day  descends. 
And  the  blue  sea  his  evening  visage  laves. 

Hear,  in  his  tragic  lay,  Cordova's  sage: 
^The  time  may  come  when  numerous  years 
are  past. 
When  ocean  will  unloose  the  hands  of  things^ 

And  an  unbounded  region  rise  at  last; 
And  Typhis  may  disclose  the  mighty  land. 
Far,  far  away,  where  none  have  roamed  he- 
fore, 

51 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Nor  will  the  world's  remotest  region  he 
Gibraltar's  rock,  or  Thule's  savage  shore/ 

Fired  at  the  theme,  I  languish  to  depart; 

Supply  the  bark  and  bid  Columbus  sail; 
He  fears  no  storm  upon  the  untraveled  deep; 

Eeason  shall    steer,    and  Skill    disarm    the 
gale. 

Nor  does  he  dread  to  miss  the  intended  course, 
Though  far  from  land    the    reeling    galley 
stray. 

And  skies  above,  and  gulfy  seas  below, 
Be  the  sole  objects  seen  for  many  a  day. 

Think  not  that  Nature  has  unveiled  in  vain 
The  mystic  magnet  to  the  mortal  eye; 

So  late  have  we  the  guiding  needle  planned. 
Only  to  sail  beneath  our  native  sky? 

Ere  this  was  known,  the  Ruling  Power  of  all 
Formed  for  our  use  an  ocean  in  the  land, 

Its  breadth  so  small  we  could  not  wander  long. 
Nor  long  be  absent  from  the  neighboring 
strand. 

Short  was  the  course,  and  guided  by  the  stars. 
But  stars  no  more  must  point  our  daring 
way; 
The  Bear  shall  sink,    and    every    guard    be 
drowned. 
And  Great  Arcturus  scarce  escape  the  day, 

52 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

When  southward  we  shall  steer — 0  grant  my 
wish, 

Supply  the  bark,  and  bid  Columbus  sail; 
He  dreads  not  tempest  on  the  untraveled  deep  ; 

Reason   shall   steer,    and    Skill   disarm   the 

srale  ' ' 

^      *  — Philip  Freneau. 

That  same  plea  is  expressed  by  Emily  Shaw 
Forman : 

^*As  o'er  his  face  of  thought  sublime, 

A  glorious  smile  there  broke. 
Before  Hispania's  king  and  queen. 

He  bowed  and  thus  he  spoke: 

^Oh,  puissant  King!  illustrious  Queen, 

I  pray  you  list  to  me — 
For  I  have  thought  to  make  your  power 

The  greatest  that  may  be. 

O'er  seas  unknown,  of  realms  I've  mused 
That  teem  with  wealth  untold — 

There  natives  ply  their  silver  barks 
On  streams  that  pearls  must  hold. 

I  think,  as  Afraganus  tells. 

The  world  is  small  and  round. 
And  when  I've  crossed  the  western  deep, 

Know  India  will  be  found. 

There's  but  Cipango  lies  between. 
Which  Marco  Polo  told 

53 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Would  prove  to  be  a  shining  land, 
Bestrewed  with  burnished  gold. 

Then  grant  me  many  a  winged  ship 
That  I  those  realms  may  seek — 

And  offerings  rich,  from  stranger  clime, 
My  grateful  heart  shall  speak. 

Then  brilliant  gems  from  plenteous  mines 

Of  every  hue  that  be, 
I'll  delve  to  weave  a  diadem. 

Oh,  gentle  queen,  for  thee. 

I've  dreamed  that  land  held  heretics — 

Those  beings  at  thy  feet 
I  see  them  kneel — they  bless  the  hour 

When  westward  sailed  our  fleet. 

Then  give  me  but  the  astrolabe, 

A  few  picked  seamen  true. 
And  I  will  cross  the  trackless  deep 

To  find  a  realm  for  you ; 

Where  ne'er  a  ship  has  sailed  before, 

I'll  breast  the  ocean  wave, 
Nor  heed  the  howling  billows'  roar, 

Nor  fear  a  watery  grave. 

No,  no!  such  visions  blest  I'll  have 

At  night,  upon  the  deep — 
'Twill  seem  that  forms  from  Paradise 

Are  visiting  my  sleep — 

54 


The  Agony  op  Suspense. 

To  paint,  ere  barks  have  touched  that  shore, 

Its  blue-robed  mountains  high. 
Full  dawning  on  our  glorious  sight. 

That  we  may  know  it  nigh. 

Oh,  when  we  touch  that  blessed  strand, 

And  rests  each  weary  keel, 
To  Him  who  dwells  above  the  skies. 

In  reverence  will  we  kneel. 

Then  rising,  as  we  anthems  sing. 

My  arms  in  air  I'll  toss. 
And  high  the  glorious  banner  wave, 

That  bears  the  blessed  cross. 

We'll  plant  it  on  some  lofty  cone, 

Before  it  kneel  again. 
And  kiss  the  earth,  so  stoutly  sought. 

For  King  and  Queen  of  Spain.' 

His  ample  front,  his  kindling  eye, 

His  brightly  flushing  cheek. 
His  earnest,  deep,  unfaltering  tones. 

Such  purpose  high  did  speak — 

That  heavenly  Isabel 

To  glowing  thoughts  awoke, 
As  dreams  all  blest  rapt  her  soul. 

In  ecstacy  she  spoke: 

*  Thou  gracious  King,  this  seaman  list ; 

Sweet  visions  dawn  on  me; 
They  image  gilded  palaces. 

Beyond  a  crystal  sea.'  " 

55 


Christopher  Columbus. 

But  no,  Ferdinand,  the  unfaithful,  counselled 
delay.  He  was  conservative,  distrustful,  self- 
centered  ;  he  would  consider ;  one  must  not  dis- 
turb one^s  equanimity  by  untoward  events — 
wait. 

^  ^  Let  us  lay  the  matter  before  the  wise  coun- 
sellors of  the  realm.'' 

That  gathering  at  Salamanca  seems  to  pre- 
sent an  analogy  to  an  earlier  gathering  of  wise 
churchmen,  set  in  judgment  upon  the  high  en- 
terprise of  another  visionary,  Joan  of  Ark.  In 
fact,  one  cannot  but  compare  the  two  beings 
called  upon  to  perform  high  and  lofty  deeds, 
and  who  received  mistrust  and  finally  crushing 
injustice  in  payment. 

Joan  has  been  vindicated,  and  let  us  hope 
that  the  time  is  not  far  distant  when  Columbus ' 
memory  will  be  cleared  of  all  the  imputations 
flung  upon  it. 

^^King  Ferdinand,  he  coldly  spoke: 

^I  will  that  there  shall  be, 
At  Salamanca,  council  held, 

This  sailor's  scheme  to  see.'  " 

— Emily  Shaw  For  man. 


56 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 


SALAMANCA. 


**Aiid  now   (the  audience    gained),    at    Sala- 
manca, 
Before  them  all,  a  simple  mariner, 
He  stands,  unawed  by  the  solemnity 
Of  gowns  and  caps — ^with  courteous,  grave  de- 
meanor. 
And  in  plain  words,  unfolding  his  high  pur- 


pose." 


— Henry  Hoivard  Brownell, 


**Were  you  at  Salamanca?    No. 
We  fronted  there  the  learning  of  all  Spain, 
All  their  cosmogonies,  their  astronomies; 
Guess-work  they  guessed  it,  but  the    golden 

quess 
Is  morning  star  to  the  full  round  of  truth. 

No  guess-work!    I  was  certain  of  my  goal; 
Some  thought  it  heresy  ;  that  would  not  hold. 
King  David  called  the  heavens  a  hide,  a  tent 
Spread  over  earth,  and  so  this  earth  was  flat; 
Some  cited  old  Lactantius:     could  it  be  that 
Trees  grew  downward,  rain  fell  upward,  men 
Walked  like  a  fly  on  ceilings?  and  besides 
The  great  Augustine  wrote  that  none  could 
breathe 

57 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Within  the  zone  of  heat;  so  might  there  be 
Two  Adams,  two  mankinds,  and  that  was  clean 
Against  God^s  word:  thus  was  I  beaten  back, 
And  chiefly,  to  my  sorrow,  by  the  Church, 

And  thought  to  turn  my  face  from  Spain, 
appeal 
Once  more  to    France  or  England;    but    our 

Queen 
Recalled  me,  for  at  last  their  Highnesses 
Were  half  assured  this  earth  might  be  a  sphere. 

All  glory  to  the  all-blessed  Trinity, 

All  glory  to  the  mother  of  our  Lord, 

And  Holy  Church,  from  whom  I  never  swerved 

Not  even  by  one  hair's  breadth  of  heresy; 

I  have  accomplished  what  I  came  to  do.'' 

— Alfred  Tennyson, 

Talavera  was  appointed  to  supervise  the 
meeting  which  was  held  in  St.  Stephen's  Hall, 
the  monks  entertaining  Columbus  and  stand- 
ing forth  as  his  supporters. 

*'St.  Stephen's  cloistered  hall  was  proud 

In  learning's  pomp  that  day. 

For  there  a  robed  and  stately  crowd 

Pressed  on  in  long  array. 

A  mariner  with  simple  chart 

Confronts  that  conclave  high. 

While  strong  ambition  stirs  his  heart. 

And  burning  thoughts  of  wonder  start 

From  lip  and  sparkling  eye. 

58 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

What  hath  he  said?    With  frowning  face, 

In  whispered  tones  they  speak, 

And  lines  upon  their  tablets  trace. 

Which  flush  each  ashen  cheek  ; 

The  Inquisition's  mystic  doom 

Sits  on  their  brows  severe, 

And  bursting"  forth  in  visioned  gloom, 

Sad  heresy  from  burning  tomb 

Groans  on  the  startled  ear. 

Courage,  thou  Genoese!    Old  Time 

Thy  splendid  dream  shall  crown; 

Yon  Western  Hemisphere  sublime. 

Where  unshorn  forests  frown. 

The  awful  Andes'  cloud-wrapt  brow. 

The  Indian  hunter's  bow. 

Bold  streams  untamed  by  helm  or  prow. 

And  rocks  of  gold  and  diamonds,  thou 

To  thankless  Spain  shalt  show. 

Courage,  World-finder!     Thou  hast  need! 
In  Fate's  unfolding  scroll. 
Dark  woes  and  ingrate  wrongs  I  read. 
That  rack  the  noble  soul. 
On!  On!     Creation's  secrets  probe. 
Then  drink  thy  cup  of  scorn. 
And  wrapped  in  fallen  Caesar's  robe. 
Sleep  like  that  master  of  the  globe 
All  glorious, — yet  forlorn." 

— Lydia  Huntley  Sigourney, 


59 


Christopher  Columbus. 

**0f  Salamanca's  sages,  some, 
They  scoffed  a  rounded  world, 
Nor  deemed  for  Colon  there  should  be 
A  single  sail  unfurled. 

*This  madman  tells  us  there  are  men 
Whose  heads  in  air  hang  down'; 
Said  one  old  councilor-sage — 
*The  thought,  it  makes  me  frown! 
Of  such  a  topsy-turvy  world. 

Sure  it  can  never  be. 
That  all  the  branches  downward  grow, 

Of  any  single  tree!'  " 

— Emily  Shaw  Forman. 

The  force  of  that  crushing  blow  to  Colum- 
bus' hopes  was  mitigated  by  the  friendly  aid 
of  that  other  of  his  friends  and  one  he  ac- 
knowledges in  his  Will  beside  Father  Perez, 
Isabella,  and  Archangel — Father  Diego  de 
Deza,  the  Prior  of  the  Convent  of  San  Esta- 
ban,  still  standing,  professor  of  theology  in 
the  University  of  Salamanca,  and  tutor  to  the 
heir-apparent.  Prince  Juan. 

In  the  University  of  Notre  Dame,  at  South 
Bend,  Indiana,  is  an  original  portrait  of  that 
Dominican  prior,  and  the  highest  honor  re- 
corded in  marble  upon  his  tomb  in  the  Cathedral 
at  Seville  is  the  fact  that  he  was  a  friend  and 
patron  of  Christopher  Columbus. 

60 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

He  had  entertained  the  navigator  at  a  farm 
belonging  to  his  order  near  the  town  of  Sala- 
manca, where  the  owner  during  the  great  cele- 
bration of  1892  erected  a  monument — a  stone 
pyramid — upon  which  was  placed  a  globe. 

**But  Ferdinand  and  Isabel, 

For  all  those  sages  learned, 
Said,  when  they  scourged  the  infidel. 

His  suit  should  not  be  spurned. 

The  warrior  king  the  Moors  assailed, 
And  fields  were  lost  and  won — 
Still,  still,  Columbus  urged  his  suit  ; 
Long  years  had  come  and  gone. 

From  Seville,  proud,  impatiently. 

Then  rose  that  mariner. 
And  sought  again  La  Eabida's  dome 

And  would  again  confer 

With  Friar  Juan  Perez,  good. 

Then  spake  that  friend  so  true, 
{Whoever  clung  to  him  in  need, 

Whatever  might  ensue) : 

^My  mule,  sure-footed,  will  I  mount — 

1*11  haste  to  Santa  Fe — 
And  there  will  urge  our  gracious  queen. 

As  earnest  as  may  be.' 

The  friar's  mule  was  saddled  soon, 
And  soon  to  Santa  Fe, 

61 


Christopher  Columbus. 

He  hasted — Ms  discerning  mind, 
How  well  could  it  foresee! 

Queen  Isabella's  bosom  fired, 

As  forcibly  he  spoke — 
She  listed  well  his  earnest  word. 

And  thus  her  silence  broke: 

*0h!  Father  Juan  Perez,  good. 

My  thanks  are  due  to  thee, 
For  back  recalling  Colon  bold, 

For  us  to  cross  the  sea. 

Then  bear  thy  friend  this  golden  store, 

And  prithee  from  me  say. 
That  I  enjoin,  to  Santa  Fe 

He  hie,  without  delay.' 

Columbus,  whom  these  tidings  cheered. 

Made  haste  to  Santa  Fe, 
And  there  a  splendid  mournful  sight, 

His  hap  it  was  to  see.'' 

— Emily  Shaw  Forman. 

The  infidel  Moors  had  invaded  Spain  in  711, 
and  had  overrun  the  whole  country,  practi- 
cally, except  the  Asturias,  and  had  passed  into 
France  and  had  bid  fair  to  extend  their  sway 
throughout  all  Europe;  but  Charles  Martel, 
**the  Hammer,"  stopped  their  inroad  at  Tours, 
732,  and  thus  saved  the  land  to  Christianity. 

It  was  only  upon  the  union  of  the  two  king- 
doms of  Aragon  and  Castile,  by  the  marriage 

62 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

of  their  sovereigns,  1469,  that  Spain  slowly 
but  surely  forced  them  from  that  territory. 

For  several  years  the  subjugations  continued, 
and  now  before  the  Moorish  capital  and  strong- 
hold, Granada,  the  flower  of  Spain  awaited 
their  final  victory. 

Here  again,  the  novelist  finds  an  enchanting 
setting  for  his  characters,  and  James  Fenimore 
Cooper  in  his  ^^ Mercedes  of  Castile,''  brings 
that  scene  as  well  as  the  circumstances  con- 
nected with  that  never-to-be-repeated  first  voy- 
age vividly  before  us;  and  Washington  Irving 
in  style  no  less  interesting  revives  it  in  his 
^^ Conquest  of  Granada.'' 

Santa  Fe,  ''Holy  Faith,"  was  the  name  given 
by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  to  the  besieging  en- 
campment. It  was  so  substantially  built — as 
the  first  temporary  buildings  had  been  con- 
sumed by  an  accidental  conflagration — that  it 
was  practically  a  town. 

It  was  here  that  Isabella  received  the  mes- 
senger dispatched  by  Juan  Perez  with  a  letter 
addressed  directly  to  herself — for  he  recognized 
the  fact  that  what  one  wants  well  done  must 
be  done  one's  self — and  she  sent  back  a  mes- 
sage summoning  the  friar  to  an  audience. 

So  successful  was  his  suit  that  she  granted 
personal  hearing  to  Columbus  after  the  sur- 
render. 


63 


Christopher  Columbus. 

GRANADA. 

'•'THE  LAST  SIGH  OF  THE  MOOR." 

^^When  from  Granada's  marble  halls, 
Mosaic  courts  and  fountain  falls 
The  Spaniard  drove  the  Moor,  again 
To  measure  back  the  Midland  Main, 
In  memory  of  the  severed  yoke 
Navarre  her  *  Order  of  the  Oak' 
Eaised  for  her  knightly  sons."        — Wiffen, 

^ '  There  was  weeping  in  Granada  on  that  event- 
ful day — 
One  king  in  triumph  entered  in,  one  vanquished 

rode  away; 
Down  from  Alhambra's  minarets  was  every 

crescent  flung, 
And  the  cry  of  '  Santiago ! '  through  the  jewelled 
palace  rung. 
And  singing,  singing,  singing. 
Were  the  nightingales  of  Spain. 
But  the  Moorish  monarch  lonely. 
The  cadences  heard  only. 
*They  sadly  sing,'  said  he, 
'They  sadly  sing  to  me.' 
And  through  the  groves  melodious 
He  rode  toward  the  sea. 

There  was  joy  in  old  Granada,  on  that  event- 
ful day, 

64 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

One  king  in  triumph  entered  in,  one  slowly  rode 

away. 
Up  the  Alcala  singing  march  the  gay  cavaliers — 
Gained  was  the  Moslem  empire  of  twice  three 
hundred  years. 

And  singing,  singing,  singing. 

Were  the  nightingales  of  Spain, 

But  the  Moorish  monarch,  lonely. 

The  cadences  heard  only. 

^They  sadly  sing,'  said  he, 

^They  sadly  sing  to  me — 

All  the  birds  of  Andalusia  !' 

x\nd  he  rode  toward  the  sea. 

The  Verga  heaped  with  flowers  below  the  city 

lay, 
And  faded  in  the  sunset,  as  he  slowly  rode 

away. 
And   he    paused    again    a   moment    amid   the 

cavaliers. 
And  saw  the  golden  palace  shine  through  the 
midst  of  tears. 
And  singing,  singing,  singing. 
Were  the  nightingales  of  Spain, 
But  the  Moorish  monarch,  lonely. 
The  cadences  heard  only. 
^They  sadly  sing,'  said  he, 
'They  sadly  sing  to  me; 
Farewell,  O  Andalusia!' 
And  he  rode  toward  the  sea." 

— Hezekiah  Butter  worth. 
65 


Christopher  Columbus. 

We  should  love  to  linger  here  at  Granada, 
fascinating  in  so  many  ways.  Its  fortress,  the 
Alhambra,  *  *  the  red  palace,  ^ '  being  unsurpassed 
as  a  specimen  of  Moorish  architecture,  with  its 
domes  and  minarets  and  slender  columns  and 
intricate  diaper-work,  so  light  and  airy  as  if 
wrought  by  fairy  fingers,  and  withal,  so  very 
significant,  for  what  might  appear  to  be  only 
elaborate  ornamentation  is  in  reality  an  expres- 
sion of  Moslem  faith — for  practically  the  whole 
Koran  is  illustrated  in  the  work. 

The  cathedral,  begun  in  1529,  contains,  in  the 
Eoyal  Chapel,  the  statues  and  monuments  of 
their  Catholic  Majesties,  and  also  the  tombs  of 
their  mad  daughter,  Juana,  and  her  husband, 
the  bases  of  which  show  in  relief,  the  surrender 
of  Boabdil,  the  *^last  of  the  Moors.'' 

The  crypt  contains  the  bodies  of  the  sov- 
ereigns. The  sacristy  treasures  many  souvenirs 
of  them,  the  vestments  worked  by  Isabella  and 
worn  by  the  cardinal  celebrant  of  the  first  Mass 
offered  up  in  the  Alhambra,  after  its  conquest ; 
also  the  crown  and  scepter  of  Isabella  and  the 
sword  of  Ferdinand. 

He  died  in  Granada,  1516,  in  the  first  convent 
built  there.  Both  he  and  Isabella,  who  passed 
away  in  1504,  had  requested  that  wherever  they 
might  die,  their  remains  should  be  brought  to 
Granada,  for  they  always  considered  its  con- 
quest to  be  the  ** brightest  jewel  in  their  crown'' 
— the  merits  of  which  occasioned  the  conferring 

66 


Tombs  of  FtM-dinand  mihI   Isabella,  at  Granada 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

npon  them  of  tliat  title, '  ^  Their  Catholic  Majes- 
ties''  by  His  Holiness. 

But  what  about  Columbus  and  his  discovery 
of  America?    Alas,  what! 

We  view  his  statue  in  the  Alhambra,  in  the 
room  where  his  ** Privileges''  were  granted  to 
him  finally — the  *  ^  Privileges "  being  the  con- 
tract signed  and  agreed  upon  by  his  sovereigns 
— ^but  broken  by  them,  alas !  again. 

^^It  was  fourteen  hundred  and  ninety-two, 
The  close  of  the  New  Year's  day, 

When  the  armies  of  Catholic  Ferdinand, 

The  flower  of  all  the  Spanish  land, 
At  the  Siege  of  Granada  lay. 

Ten  thousand  foot  and  ten  thousand  horse, 

And  ten  thousand  men  with  bows, 
Were  on  the  left,  and  as  many  more 
Had  stormed  close  up  to  the  city's  door, 
Where  the  Darro  Eiver  flows. 

And  the  king  held  levee,  for  on  that  day 

Great  news  had  come  to  court — 
How  on  the  morrow  the  town  would  yield. 
And  the  flag  of  Spain  with  the  yellow  field 
Would  float  from  the  Moorish  fort. 

There  were  princely  nobles  and  high  grandees 

That  night  in  the  royal  tent ; 
And  the  beautiful  queen  with  the  golden  hair^ 
And  shining  armor  and  sword,  was  there — 

On  the  king's  right  arm  she  leant. 

67 


Christopher  Columbus. 

It  was  nine,  and  the  old  Alhambra  bells 

Tolled  out  on  the  moonlit  air; 
And  over  the  battlements  far  there  came 
The  murmuring  sound  of  Allah's  name, 

And  the  Moorish  troops  at  prayer. 

^Hark!'  said  the  king,  as  he  heard  the  sound; 

*Hark,  hark  to  yon  belPs  refrain! — 
Five  hundred  years  it  has  called  the  Moor, 
This  night  and  'twill  call  him  nevermore ; 

Tomorrow  'twill  ring  for  Spain ! ' 

Then  spake  a  guest  at  the  king's  right  hand, 

^  Tomorrow  the  end  will  be ; 
Hast  thou  not  said  when  the  war  is  done, 
And  the  Christ's  flag  floats  o'er  the  Moslem  one. 

Thou  wouldst  keep  thy  promise  to  me? 

Thou  wouldst  give  me  ships  and  give  me  men 

Who  would  dare  to  follow  me? 
Help  thou  this  night  with  thy  royal  hand, 
And  I'll  make  thee  king  of  a  new-found  land, 

And  king  of  a  new-found  sea. 

For  the  w^orld  is  round,  and  a  ship  may  sail 

Straight  on  with  the  setting  sun, 
Beyond  Atlantis  a  thousand  miles, 
Beyond  the  peaks  of  the  golden  isles. 
To  the  Ophir  of  Solomon. 

So  I'll  find  new  roads  to  the  golden  isles. 

To  the  gardens  that  bloom  alway, 
To  the  treasure  quarries  of  Ispahan, 

68 


The  Agony  op  Suspense. 

The  sunlit  hills  of  the  mighty  Khan, 
And  wonders  of  far  Cathay. 

And  gold  I'll  bring  from  the  islands  fair; 

And  riches  of  palm  and  fir 
Thou  shalt  have,  my  king;  and  the  lords  of 

Spain 
Shall  march  with  the  Christ  flag  once  again 

And  rescue  the  Sepulchre. ' 

But  the  nobles  smiled,  and  the  prelates  sneered 

With  many  a  scornful  fling: 
'Had  not  the  wisest  already  said 
It  was  but  the  scheme  of  an  empty  head. 

And  no  fit  thing  for  a  king! 

And  were  it  true  that  the  world  is  round 

And  not  like  an  endless  plain, 
Were  our  good  king's  vessels  the  seas  to  ride 
Adown  the  slope  of  the  world's  great  side. 

How  would  they  get  up  again! 

And  the  land  of  the  fabled  antipodes 
Were  a  wonderful  land  to  see, 
Where  people  stand  with  their  heads  on  the 

ground. 
And  their  feet  in  the  air,  while  the  world  spins 
round ' — 
And  they  all  laughed  merrily. 

But  the  king  laughed  not,  though  he   scarce 
believed 
The  things  that  his  ears  had  heard; 

69 


Christopher  Columbus. 

And  he  thought  full  long  of  the  promise  fair, 
And  he  knew  that  the  day  and  the  hour  were 
there, 
If  a  king  were  to  keep  his  word. 

So  he  said,  ^For  a  while,  for  a  little  while 

Let  it  bide,  for  the  cost  is  great.' 
But  the  guest  replied :  *  Nay,  seven  years 
I  have  waited  on  with  my  hopes  and  my  fears, 
And  soon  it  will  be  too  late. '  ' ' 

—8.  H,  M.  Byers. 

**He  marked  the  last  of  Moorish  kings. 

His  keys  surrender  o'er 
To  the  King  of  Spain — and  leave  for  aye 

Whatever  he'd  known  before. 

For  old  Granada  gained,  I  ween, 

Spain  held  a  jubilee; 
The  while  Columbus  mused  in  thought, 

Upon  the  Western  Sea. 

Then  soon  the  king  and  queen  he  sought. 

And  prayed  at  once  they'd  keep 
Their  vow,  to  yield  him  outfit  good 

To  course  the  unknown  deep. 

*And  grant,'  said  he,  Hhou  sovereigns  great, 

That  admiral  I  shall  be. 
Where'er  shall  sail  your  goodly  ships, 

Upon  that  distant  sea.'  " 

— Emily  Shaw  Forman. 
70 


The  Agony  op  Suspense. 

'*Ay,  there's  the  rub!*'  And  that  was  ''the 
rub''  also  with  King  John  of  Portugal.  It  was 
not  the  mere  getting  of  ships,  it  was  the  com- 
pensation, the  rights  and  privileges  which  Co- 
lumbus demanded  that  rendered  the  tardy 
response  to  his  requests. 

He  knew  his  worth  and  the  stupendous  value 
of  his  services  and  could  not  brook  less  than 
justice.  Besides,  great  as  was  his  project  in 
crossing  the  ocean,  it  was  hardly  second  in  his 
heart  to  that  other,  though  less-known  one,  of 
raising  an  army  and  freeing  the  Holy  Sepulchre 
from  the  infidel. 

That  was  the  cause  of  his  desire  for  gold  in 
the  new  world — simply  as  a  means  to  that  end, 

^  *  O,  key  of  gold,  unlocking  wealth  of  dreams ! 
I  dreamed  of  wealth ;  yet  chiefly  to  unlock 
The  Holy  Sepulchre  from  heathen  hold. 
More  have  I  suffered    from  the  lies  of  men, 
Than  all  the  gain  to  me  my  service  brought — 
Save  gain  in  heaven." 

— George  Parsons  Lathrop. 

' '  The  Lord  had  sent  this  bright,  strange  dream 

to  me 
To  mind  me  of  the  secret  vow  I  made 
When  Spain  was  waging  war  against  the  Moor. 
I  strove  myself  with  Spain  against  the  Moor. 
There  came  two  voices  from  the  Sepulchre, 
Two  friars  crying  that  if  Spain  should  oust 

71 


Christopher  Columbus. 

The  Moslem  from  her  limits,  he,  the  fierce 
Soldan  of  Egypt,  would  break  down  and  raze 
The  blessed  tomb  of  Christ;  whereon  I  vowed 
That,  if  our  Princes  barkened  to  my  prayer, 
Whatever   wealth   I   brought   from   that   new 

world 
Should,  in  this  old,  be  consecrate  to  lead 
A  new  crusade  against  the  Saracen 
And  free  the  Holy  Sepulchre  from  thrall.'* 

— Alfred  Tennyson. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  listening  to  the  coun- 
sellors, could  not  promise  compliance  to  his 
demands. 

All,  all,  then  was  for  nought — the  long,  long 
anguish  of  hope  deferred,  ^Svhich  maketh  the 
heart  sick.'' 

**In  those  furrowed  lines. 
As  on  some  faithful  chart,  might  still  be  traced 
The  weary  voyaging  of  many  years; 
That  restless  spirit  pent  in  narrow  bounds. 
Yet  ever  looking  with  unquiet  eye 
Beyond  old  land-marks;  with  unwearied  soul 
Still  searching,  prying  into  the  unknown. 
And  hoarding  richer  sea-lore,  till  at  last 
Possessed  and  haunted  of  one  grand  Belief, 
One  mighty  Thought  no  wretchedness  could  lay. 

The  weary  interval — eighteen  long  years 
Wandering  from  court  to  court — ^his  Wondrous 
Tale 

72 


The  Agony  of  Suspense. 

Lost  in  half -heeding,  dull,  incredulous  ears ; 
The  patient  toil — the  honorable  want 
Endured  so  nobly — in  his  threadbare  coat, 
Mocked  by  the  rabble — the  half -uttered  jeer — 
And  the  pert  finger  tapping  on  the  head. 
May  Heaven  accord  us  patience — as  to  him!" 
— Henry  Howard  BrownelL 

He  stipulated  that  his  compensation  should 
be :  Title  as  Admiral,  to  be  held  by  him  and  his 
descendants;  one-tenth  of  gold  and  other  ac- 
crued outputs  of  the  discovered  land,  and  vice- 
royalty  of  it. 

Other  terms  were  proposed  by  the  sovereigns, 
but  no,  for  eighteen  years  he  had  waited  and 
hoped,  and  now  he  wearily,  but  undauntedly, 
turned  to  try  other  lands  and  other  realms. 

'Twas  then  that  the  Grand  Chancellor  of 
Aragon,  Santangel,  appeared  before  Isabella, 
and  spoke  so  fearlessly  in  rebuke,  setting  forth 
the  loss  of  glory  to  the  crown,  should  others 
accept  what  she  so  unwisely  refused. 

We  may  then  imagine  her  exclamations: 

^'  ^Columbus  gone!  Haste!  Bring  him  back  to 

me! 
Rather  I  fling  my  crown  into  the  sea 
Than  he,  rejected,  pleading  all  in  vain. 
Shake  from  his  pilgrim  feet  the  dust  of  Spain ! 

Ah,  Ferdinand !  the  warrior  ^s  art  you  know, 
And  state-craft,  and  the  subtle,  tender  show 

73 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Of  watchfulness  that  steals  a  woman's  heart! 

But  there's  a  nobler  science,  finer  art 

Than  gallantry,  or  state-craft:  there  are  fields 

Of  battle  fought  with  neither  sword  nor  shield, 

Where  souls  heroic  bleed  invisibly. 

And  falter  not ;  for  down  the  watchful  sky 

A  whisper  bids  them  onward  to  the  end. 

And  their  own  echoes  answer,  **To  the  end!*' 

To  such,  though  to  the  glory  round  us  shed 
Of  right  divine  to  rule,  they  bow  the  head, 
Our  lives  must  seem,  with  all  that  they  have 

won. 
Like  some  small  planet's  transit  o'er  the  sun. 
They  seek  a  greater  prize  than  that  we  see 
Where  red  Alhambra  lifts  the  Hand  and  Key, 
And  loftier  walls  to  scale,  or  batter  down. 
Than  those  that  o'er  the  rushing  Darro  frown. 

A  visionary,  is  he?    Marked  you  how 
Straight  line  on  line  ruled  that  studious  brow? 
Guessed  you  no  sovereign  text  engraven  there 
'Twixt  the  wide-swelling  temples'  silvered  hair! 
A  visionary!    No  great  plan  on  earth 
To  which  foreseeing  minds  have  given  birth 
Was  e'er  accomplished,  but  some  heart  of  stone 
Found  it  impossible — till  it  was  done! 

Bring  me  my  jewels — necklace,  clasp  and  ring, 
Bracelets  and  brooches,  every  shining  thing! 
Let  not  a  single  pearl  roll  out  of  sight 

74 


5^    ^ 


"^  [ 


The  Agony  op  Suspense. 

Of  all  my  orient  strings  of  milky  ligM; 
Miss  not  the  heads  of  onyx  finely  wrought, 
Withhold    no    sun-bright    diamond.      There's 

naught 
Of  cunning  gold-work,  nor  of  radiant  stone, 
Too  precious  to  help  pave  the  path  whereon 
Beyond  the  unknown  waters,  vast  and  dun. 
The  Cross  shall  travel  with  the  westering  sun ! 
Bring  my  Castilian  gems  whose  wedded  shine 
Two  kingdoms  joined  their  hands  to  place  in 

mine. 
Ah,  my  strong  Castile  and  my  brave  Leon! 
I  brought  no  lamb  in  fold  to  AragonI'  '' 

— Mary  Agnes  Tucker. 

''Then  spake  the  queen:  *Be  it  done  for  me. 

Here's  my  jewels,  for  woe  or  weal.' 
And  she  took  the  gems  from  her  shining  hair, 
And  the  priceless  pearls  she  was  wont  to  wear, 

And  she  said,  'For  my  own  Castile.'  " 

—8.  H,  M.  Byers, 

It  is  only  ''poetically"  that  Isabella  pledged 
her  jewels — for  that  sacrifice  was  unnecessary, 
as  Santangel  himself  and  other  persons  of 
wealth  would  have  advanced  the  money.  It  was 
procured  from  the  Exchequer  of  Aragon — 
Ferdinand  allowing  its  loan  only.  It  was  repaid 
by  Isabella  and  her  "own  Castile,"  so  she  in 
reality  provided  the  funds. 

75 


Christopher  Columbus. 

*' Riding  dejected  from  the  royal  court, 

In  friar 's  frock,  deep-brooding  o  'er  his  woes, 
A  sound  of  hoofs  out  of  the  silence  grows, 

A  steed  approaches,  what  can  this  import? 

A  royal  messenger  dismounts,  bends  low — 
The  heart  beneath  the  friar's  robe  stands 

still. 
He  hears  the  message  of  the  queen's  good 
will. 

And  turns  his  rein :  with  zeal  his  soul's  aglow." 

— Emily  Shaw  Forman. 


76 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  GREAT  VOYAGE: 
THE  SEA  OF  DARKNESS. 

Now  again  was  Friar  Juan  Perez  indispen- 
sable to  Columbus,  for  what  though  he  had 
contract  signed  and  sealed  by  the  sovereigns, 
and  orders  for  ships  to  be  furnished  by  Palos 
town — a  penalty  for  some  delinquency  in  the 
late  war — still  what  were  ships  without  sailors 
to  man  them?  And  what  heart  stout  enough  to 
undertake  that  unheard  of  voyage! 

Juan  Perez,  known  and  respected  by  all  the 
fisherfolk,  encouraged  and  aroused  many  to 
action. 

Two  of  his  friends,  worthy  seamen,  the 
brothers  Martin  Alonzo  and  Vicente  Yanez 
Pinzon,  became  interested  in  the  undertaking 
and  sailed  as  captains  of  the  caravels;  Martin 
Alonzo  with  thirty  men,  commanded  the  Pinta, 
while  Vicente  Yanez  who  owned  the  Nina,  *Hhe 
little  one,''  commanded  her. 

Here  again  does  the  novelist  find  a  rich  field 
for  his  character  setting,  and  many  are  the  tales 
of  adventure  describing  that  first  voyage; 
among  the  recent  tales,  and  one  that  cannot 
fail  to  interest  the  youth,  is  ^* Diego  Pinzon," 
by  John  R.  Coryell. 

77 


Christopher  Columbus. 

This  story  differs  from  others,  in  that  its 
scene  lies  upon  the  ^*Pinta,''  and  the  principal 
character  is  Martin  Alonzo  Pinzon,  her  brave 
but  overbalanced  commander,  who  could  not 
brook  a  superior,  and  who  deserted  and  after- 
wards strove  to  rob  the  great  Admiral  of  his 
honors.  Failure  of  his  attempt  caused  his 
ignominious  return  and  death  from  a  broken 
heart. 

Juan  de  la  Cosa,  famous  now  for  the  chart 
he  made  of  the  new  world,  owned  the  Santa 
Maria,  commanded  by  Columbus,  and  he  sailed 
in  her  as  pilot. 

How  inspiringly  the  poets  tell  of  that  stupen- 
dous journey! 

^  ^  The  kings  had  mocked, 
The  monks  sustained  him.  Hail,  Rabida,  hail! 
Thy  cloisters  he  had  paced ;  thy  pathways  hard 
Yet  sweet  with  lavender  and  thyme ;  had  gazed 
On  the  azure  waves  from  Palos'  promontory; 
Listened   its   meek   Superior's   words:    'Fear 

naught ! 
Beyond  that  beaming  ocean  lies  thy  world ! 
Thou  seek'st  that  world  for  God's  sake,  not  for 

man's; 
Therefore  God  grants  it  thee.'    Next  morn  he 

sailed : 
That  holy  monk  his  great  Viaticum 
Gave  him  while  yet  'twas  dark." 

— Aubrey  de  Vere. 

78 


The  Great  Voyage. 

''Say  who,  when  age  on  age  had  rolled  away, 
And  still,  as  sunk  the  golden  orb  of  day, 
The  seamen  watched  him,  while  he  lingered 

here. 
With  many  a  wish  to  follow,  many  a  fear, 
And  gazed  and  gazed  and  wondered  where  he 

went, 
So  bright  his  path,  so  glorious  his  descent. 
Who  first  adventured — in  his  birth  obscure, 
Yet  born  to  build  a  fame  that  should  endure. 
Who  the  great  secret  of  the  Deep  possessed, 
And,  issuing  through  the  portals  of  the  West, 
Fearless,  resolved,  with  every  sail  unfurled 
Planted  his  standard  on  the  Unknown  World? 
Him,  by  the  Paynim  bard  descried  of  yore. 
And  *ere  his  coming  sung  on  either  shore, 
Him  could  not  I  exalt — by  Heaven  designed 
To  lift  the  veil  that  covered  half  mankind ! ' ' 

— Samuel  Rogers. 

"O  Thou!  whose  mandate  dust  inert  obeyed. 
What  is  this  creature  man  whom  Thou  hast 

made? 
On  Palos^  shore,  whose  crowded  strand 
Bore  priests  and  nobles  of  the  land. 
And  rustic  hinds  and  townsmen  trim. 
And  harnessed  soldiers  stern  and  grim, 
iVnd  lowly  maids  and  dames  of  pride, 
And  infants  by  their  mothers '  side, — 
The  boldest  seaman  stood  that  e'er 
Did  bark  or  ship  through  tempest  steer ; 

79 


Christopher  Columbus. 

And  wise  as  bold  and  good  as  wise, 
The  magnet  of  a  thousand  eyes, 
That,  on  his  form  and  features  cast. 
His  noble  mien  and  simple  guise. 
In  wonder  seemed  to  look  their  last. 
A  form  which  conscious  worth  is  gracing, 
A  face  where  Hope,  the  lines  effacing 
Of  thought  and  care,  bestowed  in  truth, 
To  the  quick  eyes'  imperfect  tracing. 
The  look  and  air  of  youth. 

Who,  in  his  lofty  gait,  and  high 
Expression  of  the  enlightened  eye, 
Had  recognized,  in  that  bright  hour. 
The  disappointed  suppliant  of  dull  power. 
Who  had  in  vain  of  states  and  kings  desired 
The  pittance  for  his  vast  empire  required! 
The  patient  sage,  who,  by  his  lamp 's  faint  light. 
O'er  chart  and  map  spent  the  long  silent  night? 
The  man  w^ho  meekly  fortune's  buffets  bore. 
Trusting  in  One  alone,  whom  Heaven  and  earth 
adore ! 

Another  world  is  in  his  mind. 

Peopled  with  creatures  of  his  kind. 

With  hearts  to  feel,  with  minds  to  soar. 

Thoughts  to  consider  and  explore; 

Souls  who  might  find,  from  trespass  shriven. 

Virtue  on  earth  and  joy  in  Heaven. 

^That  Power  divine,  whom  storms  obey,' 
(Whispered  his  heart),  ^a  leading  star, 

80 


The  Great  Voyage. 

Will  guide  Mm  on  his  blessed  way; 
Brothers  to  join  by  fate  divided  far/ 
Vain  thoughts!  which  Heaven  doth  but  ordain 
In  part  to  be,  the  rest,  alas!  how  vain!'' 

'oanna  Baillie, 


^^The  wind  was  fair,  the  ships  lay  in  the  bay, 
And  the  blue  sky  looked  down  upon  the  earth; 
Prophetic  Time  laughed  toward  the  nearing 

birth 
Of  the  strong  child  with  whom  should  come  a 

day 
That  dulled  all  earlier  hours.'' 

— Louis  James  Block, 

^ '  Embarked,  and  on  the  sea  at  last !  at  last ! 
The  toil  of  a  long  life — a  Deathless  Name, 
The  undetermined  fates  of  all  to  come. 
Staked  on  his  prow — ^it  is  no  little  thing 
Will  turn  aside  that  soul,  long  resolute, 
(Though  every  heart  grow  faint,   and  every 

tongue 
Murmur  in  mutiny),  to  hold  its  course 
Onward,  still  onward,  through  the  pathless  void. 
The  lone  untravelled  wilderness   of  waves — 
'  Onward !  still  onward !  we  shall  find  it  yet ! '  " 
— Henry  Howard  Brownell. 

**  Christ,  on  these  shoulders  rest. 
While  I  the  billows  breast; 
My  only  care, 

81 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Christ  and  His  Truth  to  bear 

To  shores  unknown 

Where  Grod  is  not, 

In  His  own  works  forgot! 

Queen,  on  thy  starry  throne. 

Cheer,  with  thine  eyes  benign. 

This  lonely  quest  of  mine  I" 

— Eliza  Allen  Starr, 

^^Over  the  wide  unknown 

Far  to  the  shores  of  Ind, 
On  through  the  dark  alone. 

Like  a  feather  blown  by  the  wind; 
Into  the  West  away. 

Sped  by  the  breath  of  God, 
Seeking  the  clearer  day 

Where  only  His  feet  have  trod : 
From  the  past  to  the  future  we  sail ; 

We  slip  from  the  leash  of  kings. 
Hail,  Spirit  of  Freedom — Hail! 

Unfurl  thine  impalpable  wings! 
Eeceive  us,  protect  us,  and  bless 

Thy  knights  who  brave  all  for  thee. 
Though  death  be  thy  soft  caress. 

By  that  touch  shall  our  souls  be  free. 
Onward  and  ever  on, 

Till  the  voice  of  despair  is  stilled. 
Till  the  haven  of  peace  is  won, 

And  the  purpose  of  God  fulfilled !'' 

— Harriet  Monroe. 


82 


The  Great  Voyage. 

^^  Immortal  morn,  all  hail, 
That  saw  Columbus  sail 

By  Faith  alone. 
The  skies  before  him  bowed. 
Back  rolled  the  ocean  proud, 
And  every  lifting  cloud 

With  glory  shone. 

Fair  Science  then  was  born 
On  that  celestial  morn, 

Faith  dared  the  sea; 
Triumphant  o'er  her  foes, 
Then  Truth  immortal  rose, 
New  heavens  to  disclose 

And  Earth  to  free. 

Strong  Freedom  then  came  forth, 
To  liberate  the  earth 

And  crown  the  right: 
So  walked  the  pilot  bold 
Upon  the  sea  of  gold. 
And  darkness  backward  rolled. 

And  there  was  light. 

Sweep,  sweep  across  the  seas, 
Ye  rolling  jubilees. 

Grand  chorals  raise; 
The  world  adoring  stands, 
And  with  uplifted  hands 
Offers  from  all  the  lands, 

To  God,  its  praise. 

83 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Ye  hosts  of  Faith,  sing  on; 
The  victories  ye  have  won 

Shall  Time  increase, 
And  like  the  choral  strain 
That  fell  on  Bethlehem's  plain, 
Inspire  the  perfect  reign 

Of  Love  and  Peace." 

— Hezehiah  Butterworth, 

**  There  were  three  ships  sailing  from  Palos 
town 

Ere  the  noon  of  a  summer's  day, 
And  the  people  looked  at  the  ships  and  said, 
-^God  pity  their  souls,  for  they  all  are  dead;' 

But  the  ships  went  down  the  bay. 

And  an  east  wind  blew,  and  the  convent  bells 

Bang  out  in  sweet  accord. 
And  the  master  stood  on  the  deck  and  cried, 
*We  sail  in  the  name  of  the  Crucified, 

With  the  flag  of  the  Christ  our  Lord!' 

They  were  ten  days  out  when  a  storm  wind 
blew — 

Ten  days  from  the  coast  of  Spain, 
And  the  sailors  shrived  each  other  and  said, 
*  God  help  us  now,  or  we  all  are  dead ! 

We  will  never  see  land  again. ' 

They  were  twelve  days  out  when  an  ocean  rock 
Burst  forth  in  a  sea  of  fire, 

84 


The  Great  Voyage. 

As  if  each  peak  and  each  lava  cliff 
Of  the  red-hot  sides  of  Teneriffe 

Were  a  sea-king's  funeral-pyre. 

And  the  sailors  crossed  themselves  and  said, 

*  Alas  for  the  day  we  swore 
To  follow  a  reckless  adventurer — 
Though  it  be  at  last  to  the  Sepulchre — 

In  search  of  an  unknown  shore!' 

And  they  spoke  of  the  terror  that  lay  between, 

Of  the  hurricanes  born  of  hell, 
Of  the  sunless  seas  that  forever  roar. 
Where    the    moon    had    perished    long    years 
before. 
When  an  evil  spirit  fell. 

And  ever  the  winds  blew  West,  blew  West, 

And  the  ships  flew  over  the  main. 
^They  are  cursed  winds,'  the  mariners  said, 
*That  blow  us  forever   ahead — ahead; 
They  will  never  blow  back  to  Spain. ' 

But  the  master  cited  the  Holy  Writ ; 

And  he  told  of  a  vision  fair, 
How  a  shining  angel  would  show  the  way 
To  the  Indus  Isles  and  the  sweet  Cathay, 

And  he  ^knew  they  were  almost  there.'  " 

—S,  H.  M.  Byers, 


85 


Christopher  Columbus. 

**  Fiercer  eight  days  the  tempest  roared  and 

raved : 
Feebler  each  day  that  God-protected  bark, 
Shuddering  in  every  plank,  and  panting,  clomb 
The  mountain  waves,  or  sank  to  vales  betwixt 

them. 

Meantime   the    great   Sea-wanderer   lay   nigh 

death 
In  agonies  unnamed :  old  wounds  once  more 
Bled  fast  at  every  joint.     At  times  his  head 
He  raised  to  learn  if  stood  the  masts,  or  fell; 
Then    on    his    pallet    sank    with   hands    hard 

clasped. 
Silent.    Full  oft  the  mariners  overspent 
Approached  him,  clamoring,  *  Master,  give  it 

o'er! 
Drift  we  before  the  storm  to  loved  Castile ! ' 

Such  suppliants  still  Columbus  answered  thus 
In  words  unchanged :  '  Good  news  were  that  for 

powers 
Accursed,  who  clutch  dominion  long  usurped. 
Lording  God's  western  world!    They  hate  the 

Cross, 
And  know  that  when  it  lands  their  realm  dis- 
solves. 
Theirs  is  this  tempest;  and  therein  they  ride!' 

The  eighth  eve  had  come.    While  hard  the  sun- 
set strove 
To  pierce  the  on-racing  clouds,  a  cry  rang  out 

86 


The  Great  Voyage. 

Re-echoed  from  those  caravels  three  hard-by — 
The  cry  of  men  death-doomed.'' 

— Aubrey  de  Vere. 

**Palos,  thy  port,  with  many  a  pang  resigned, 
Filled  with  its  busy  scenes  his  lonely  mind; 
The  solemn  march,  the  vows  in  concert  given, 
The  bended  knees  and  lifted  hand  to  Heaven, 
The  incensed  rites,  the  choral  harmonies, 
The   Guardian's  blessings  mingling  with  his 

sighs ; 
While  his  dear  boys — ah,  on  his  neck  they  hung. 
And  long  at  parting  to  his  garments  clung. 

Oft  in  the  silent  night-watch  doubt  and  fear 
Broke  in  uncertain  murmurs  on  his  ear. 
Oft  the  stern  Catalan,  at  noon  of  day. 
Muttered  dark  threats  and  lingered  to  obey." 

— Samuel  Rogers. 

^^  Would  all  the  dolls  of  Spain 
Had  been  afloat  with  us  the  day  the  fire. 
So    cunning    smothered,    burst    its    way    out, 

pricked 
Round  him  in  swords  and  knives  till  that  old 

dog. 
That  in  his  time  scratched  a  dragon,  croaked — 
*  Cast,  cast  her,  lads ;  we  're  in  the  port  of  Hell ! ' 

'Twas  in  mid-ocean.     Suddenly  the  thought 
Of  home  seized  on  the  sailors ;  like  caged  beasts 

87 


Christopher  Columbus. 

They  turned,  gap-jawed,  and  sprang  to  take 

the  hehn, 
And  point  the  little  vessel  back  to  shore. 

Old  Dauntless — stiff,  death-stiff  with  pains — 

the  same 
That  plague  him  now — propped  on  his  crutch, 

ghost-pale. 
Appeared.  The  power  gray  sailors  dread  worse 
Than  shoals  of  devils  was  on  him,  crown  to  heel. 
His  long  face  shortening  inches,  his  great  eyes 
Straining  their  sockets — so  he  came  to  stand. 
To  glare  to  right  and  left  unspeakable  wrath, 
Till  every  cur  slunk  in  his  kennel,  whined 
And   howled   to    Heaven    for    pardon    of   his 

sins '  e 

— John  Vance  Cheney. 

**  *My  men  and  brothers,  westward  lies  our 
way!' 
So  spoke  Columbus,  looking  on  the  sea, 
Which  stretched  before  him  to  infinity; 
And  while  he  sailed  he  wrote  these  words  each 
day. 

As  though,  ^West  lies  thy  course,'  he  heard 
God  say, 
With  promise  of  the  blessings  which  should 

be 
When  a  New  World  had  borne  young  Liberty, 
As  fair  and  fresh  as  flowers  in  month  of  May. 

88 


The  Great  Voyage. 

0  God-appointed  man !  all  hail  to  thee ! 

Thou  other  Moses  of  a  chosen  race, 
Who  out  of  darkness  and  captivity 

Leadest  the  people  from  the  tyrant's  face, 
To  where  all  men  shall  equal  be  and  free, 

And  evil  life  alone  shall  be  disgrace." 

— John  Lancaster  Spalding, 

*^Sail  on,  Columbus!  sail  right  onward  still, 
O'er  watery  waste  of  trackless  billows  sail. 
Nor  let  a  doubting  race  make  thy  heart  fail 

Till  a  New  World  upglow  beneath  thy  will. 

Let  storms  break  forth  and  driving  winds  be 

shrill ; 

But  be  thou  steadfast  when  all  others  quail. 

Still  looking  westward  till  the  night  grows 

pale, 

And  the  long  dreamed  of  land  thy  glad  eyes  fill. 

Great  world-revealer,  sail!  God  leads  the  way 
Across  the  gloomy,  fathomless  dark  sea. 

Of  man  unvisited  until  this  day. 
But  which  henceforth  for  the  whole  world 
shall  be 

The  road  to  nobler  life  and  wider  sway. 
Where  tyrants  perish  and  all  men  are  free. ' ' 

— John  Lancaster  Spalding, 


89 


Christopher  Columbus. 

^  *  Steer  on,  bold  sailor.    Wit  may  mock  thy  soul 

that  sees  the  land, 
And  hopeless  at  the  helm  may  droop  the  weak 

and  weary  hand; 
Yet  ever,  ever  to  the  West,  for  there  the  coast 

must  lie, 
And  dim  it  dawns  and  glimmering  dawns  before 

thy  reason's  eye; 
Yea,  trust  the  guiding  Grod,  and  go  along  the 

floating  grave. 
Though  hid  till  now,  yet  now  behold  the  New 

World  o'er  the  wave! 
With  Genius,  Nature  ever  stands  in  solemn 

union  still. 

And  ever  what  the  one  foretells  the  other  shall 

fulfill.'' 

— Fnedrich  von  Schiller, 

— Translated  by  E.  Bulwer  Lytton. 

^* Heroic  guide!  whose  wings  are  never  furled, 

By  thee  Spain's  voyager  sought  another  world; 

What  but  poetic  impulse  could  sustain 

That  dauntless  pilgrim  on  the  dreary  main? 

Day  after  day  his  mariners  protest. 

And  gaze  with  dread  along  the  pathless  West; 

Beyond  that  realm  of  waves  untracked  before, 

Thy  fairy  pencil  traced  the  promised  shore; 

Through  weary  storms   and  faction's  fiercer 

rage. 
The  scoffs  of  ingrates  and  the  chills  of  age. 
Thy  voice  renewed  his  earnestness  of  aim, 

90 


CJolunibus  on    Deck  of  the  Snnta  ^fori(^ 


PiUty 


The  Great  Voyage. 

And  whispered  pledges  of  eternal  fame; 
Thy  cheering  smile  atoned  for  fortune's  frown, 
And  made  his  fetters  garlands  of  renown." 
— Henry  T.  TucJcerman. 

**  Westward  Columbus  steered,  while,  day  by 

day, 
On  Toseanelli's  chart  he  traced  the  way 
Across  the  Sea  of  Darkness,  to  Cathay. 

Sure  of  his  goal  where  others  dimly  guessed, 
No  doubt  disturbed  him  in  his  certain  quest 
For  the  known  Orient  in  the  unknown  West. 

If  Asia  girds  the  solid  globe  around. 

With  its    vast   bulk,   somewhere   its    Eastern 

bound 
Beyond  the  untracked  Ocean  must  be  found. 

His   day-dream   this,   through   all   the   weary 

strain 
Of  hope  deferred  and  succor  sought  in  vain. 
The  slights  of  sovereigns  and  the  world's  dis- 
dain. 

No  day-dream  now;  Santa  Marians  keel 
Ploughs  the  main  sea  to  shores  that  shall  reveal 
New  realms  for  Christ,  Columbus,  and  Castile. 

There,  at  his  touch,  shall  India's  gates  unfold. 

As  in  the  tale  that  Marco  Polo  told. 

The  Magi's  wealth  of  spices,  gems,  and  gold. 

91 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Himself  the  lord  of  all  the  vast  domain, 
Viceroy  of  vassal  kingdoms,  won  for  Spain, 
Trophies,  unmatched,  of  Isabella's  reign. 

Then  shall  his  vow  be  paid,  with  unsheathed 

sword. 
To  lead,  beneath  the  banner  of  his  Lord, 
A  new  crusade  against  the  Moslem  horde. 

What  though  his   scattered  barks  are  tossed 

and  blown 
By  every  wind  that  sweeps  the  storm-girt  zone, 
And  all  hearts  fail  for  fear,  except  his  own. 

While  traitorous  lips  on  each  frail  caraval 
Curse  the  mad  whim  which  lured,  with  wizard 

spell, 
To  outer  darkness  and  the  jaws  of  Hell; 

Fixed  as  the  polar  star,  above  the  swarm 
Of  craven  comrades,  towers  his  lofty  form. 
Steadfast,  immovable,  in  calm  and  storm. 

His  boundless  faith,  like  the  broad  sea  he  sailed, 
Compassed    with    clouds,    with    angry    blasts 

assailed. 
Was    fed    by    mighty    streams    which    never 

failed. '' 

— William  Allen  Butler. 


92 


The  Great  Voyage. 

**  'Twas  night.    The  moon,  o'er  the  wave,  dis- 
closed 
Her  awful  face ;  and  Nature 's  self  reposed ; 
When,  slowly  rising  in  the  azure  sky, 
Three  white  sails  shone — but  to  no  mortal  eye. 
Entering  a  boundless  sea.    In  slumber  cast, 
The  very  ship-boy,  on  the  dizzy  mast. 
Half  breathed  his  orisons!    Alone  unchanged. 
Calmly,  beneath,  the  great  Commander  ranged, 
Thoughtful,  not  sad ;  and,  as  the  planet  grew. 
His  noble  form,  wrapt  in  his  mantle  blue, 
Athwart  the  deck  a  deeping  shadow  threw. 

He  turned,  but  what  strange  thought  perplexed 

his  soul. 
The  compass,  faithless  to  the  Pole, 
Fluttered  and  fixed,  fluttered  and  fixed  again ! 
At  length,  as  by  some  unseen  hand  impressed. 
It  sought  with  trembling  energy — the  West! 

A  mighty  wind, 
Not  like  the  fitful  blast,  with  fury  blind. 
But  deep,  majestic,  in  its  destined  course, 
Sprung  with  unerring,  unrelenting  force. 
From  the  bright  East.    Tides  duly  ebbed  and 

flowed ; 
Stars  rose  and  set;  and  new  horizons  glowed: 
Yet  still  it  blew!    As  with  primeval  sway 
Still  did  its  ample  spirit,  night  and  day. 
Move  on  the  waters !  all,  resigned  to  fate, 
Folded  their  arms  and  sate ;  and  seemed  to  wait 

93 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Some  sudden  change;  and  sought,  in  chill  sus- 
pense, 
New  spheres  of  being,  and  new  modes  of  sense, 
As  men  departing,  though  not  doomed  to  die. 
And  midway  on  their  passage  to  eternity. 

*Ah,  why  look  back,  tho'  all  is  left  behind? 
No  sounds  of  life  are  stirring  in  the  wind. 
And  you,  ye  birds,  winging  your  passage  home, 
How  blest  ye  are !  We  know  not  where  we  roam. 
We  go, '  they  cried,  *  go  to  return  no  more ; 
Nor  ours,  alas,  the  transport  to  explore 
A  human  footstep  on  a  desert  shore ! ' 

Still,  as  beyond  this  mortal  life  impelled 
By  some  mysterious  energy,  he  held 
His  everlasting  course.    Still  self-possessed, 
High  on  the  deck  he  stood,  disdaining  rest; 
(His  amber  chain  the  only  badge  he  bore, 
His  mantle  blue  such  as  his  fathers  wore) 
Fathomed  with  searching  hand,  the  dark  pro- 
found, 
And  scattered  hope  and  glad  assurance  round; 

Yet  who  but  he  undaunted  could  explore 
A  world  of  waves,  a  sea  without  a  shore, 
Trackless  and  vast  and  wild  as  that  revealed 
When   round   the   Ark   the   birds   of  tempest 

wheeled ; 
When  all  was  still  in  the  destroying  hour. 
No  sign  of  man!    No  vestige  of  his  power! 

94 


The  Great  Voyage. 

One  at  the  stern  before  the  hour-glass  stood 
As  'twere  to  count  the  sands ;  one  o  'er  the  flood 
Grazed  for  St.  Elmo;  while  another  cried, 
^Once  more  good  morrow!*  and  sate  down  and 

sighed. 
Day,  when  it  came,  came  only  with  its  light. 
Though  long  invoked,   'twas  sadder  than  the 

night ! 
Look  where  he  would,  forever  as  he  turned, 
He  met  the  eye  of  one  that  inly  mourned. ' ' 

— Samuel  Rogers. 

**Here  am  I;  for  what  end  God  knows,  not  I; 
Westward  still  points  the  inexorable  soul: 
Here  am  I  with  no  friend  but  the  sad  sea, 
The  beating  heart  of  this  great  enterprise, 
Which,  without  me,  would  stiffen  in  swift  death ; 
This  have  I  mused  on,  since  mine  eye  could  first 
Among  the  stars  distinguish  and  with  joy 
Eest  on  that  God-fed  Pharos  of  the  North, 
On  some  blue  promontory  of  heaven  lighted 
That  juts  far  out  into  the  upper  sea. 

The  cordage  creaks  and  rattles  in  the  wind. 
With  whims  of  sudden  hush;  the  reeling  sea 
Now  thumps  like  solid  rock  beneath  the  stern, 
Now  leaps  with  clumsy  wrath,  strikes  short, 

and,  falling 
Crumbled   to    whispery   foam,    slips    rustling 

down 
The  broad  backs  of  the  waves,  which  jostle  and 

crowd 

95 


Christopher  Columbus. 

To  fling  themselves  upon  that  unknown  shore, 
Their  used  familiar  since  the  dawn  of  time, 
Whither  his  foredoomed  life  is  guided  on 
To  sway  on  triumph's  hushed,  aspiring, 
One  loitering  moment,  then  break  fulfilled. 

How  lonely  is  the  sea's  perpetual  swing. 
The  melancholy  wash  of  perpetual  waves. 
The  sigh  of  some  grim  monster  undescried, 
Fear-painted  on  the  canvas  of  the  dark, 
Shifting  on  his  uneasy  pillow  of  brine ! 

Yet  night  brings  more  companions  than  the  day 
To  this  drear  waste;  new  constellations  burn, 
And  fairer  stars,  with  whose  calm  height  my 

soul 
Finds  nearer  sympathy  than  with  my  herd 
Of  earthen  souls,  whose  vision's  scanty  ring 
Makes  me  its  prisoner  to  beat  my  wings 
Against  the  cold  bars  of  their  unbelief. 
Knowing  in  vain  my  own  free  Heaven  beyond. 

0  God !  this  world,  so  crammed  with  eager  life, 
That   comes   and  goes   and  wanders  back  to 

silence 
Like  the  idle  wind,  which  yet  man's  shaping 

mind 
Can  make  his  drudge  to  swell  the  longing  sails 
Of  highest  endeavor — this  mad,  unthrift  world, 
Which,  every  hour,  throws  life  enough  away 
To  make  her  deserts  kind  and  hospitable, 

96 


The  Great  Voyage. 

Lets  her  great  destinies  be  waved  aside 
By  smooth,  lip-reverent,  formal  infidels. 
Who  weigh  the  God  they  not  believe,  with  gold, 
And  find  no  spot  in  Judas,  save  that  he. 
Driving  a  duller  bargain  than  he  ought. 
Saddled  his  guild  with  too  cheap  precedent. 

0  Faith!  if  thou  art  strong,  thine  opposite 

I.  mighty  also,  and  the  dull  fooPs  sneer 

Hath  ofttimes  shot  chill  palsy  through  the  arm 

Just  lifted  to  achieve  its  crowning  deed. 

And  made  the  firm-based  heart,  that  would  have 

quailed 
The  rack  or  fagot,  shudder  like  a  leaf 
Wrinkled  with  frost,  and  loose  upon  its  stem. 

One  faith  against  a  whole  earth's  unbelief. 
One  soul  against  the  flesh  of  all  mankind " 

— James  Russell  Lowell, 

^'On  the   deck   stood   Columbus:   the   ocean's 

expanse. 
Untried  and  unlimited,  swept  by  his  glance. 
^Back  to  Spain!'  cry  his  men;  *put  the  vessel 

about ! 
We  venture  no   farther  through  danger  and 

doubt.' 
*  Three   days,   and   I   give   you   a   world!'   he 

replied ; 
*Bear  up,  my  brave  comrades;  three  days  shall 

decide. ' 

97 


Christopher  Columbus. 

He  sails — ^but  no  token  of  land  is  in  sight; 
He  sails — but  the  day  shows  no  more  than  the 

night; 
On,  onward  he  sails,  while  in  vain  o'er  the  lee 
The  lead  is  plunged  down  through  a  fathomless 

sea. 

The  pilot,  in  silence,  leans  mournfully  o'er 
The  rudder,  which  creaks  'mid  the  billowy  roar ; 
He  hears  the  hoarse  moan  of  the  spray-driving 

blast. 
And  its  funeral  wail  through  the  shrouds  of  the 

mast. 

The  stars  of  far  Europe  have  sunk  in  the  skies, 

And  the  great  Southern  Cross  meets  his  terri- 
fied eyes. 

But  at  length  the  slow  dawn,  softly  streaking 
the  night. 

Illumes  the  blue  vault  with  its  faint  crimson 
light. 

*  Columbus!  'tis  day,  and  the  darkness  is  o'er.' 

^Day!  and  what  dost  thou  see?'  ^Sky  and  ocean. 

No  more.' 

The    second    day's    past,    and    Columbus    is 

sleeping. 
While  Mutiny  near  him  its  vigil  is  keeping. 
'Shall  he  perish! '  'Ay!  death!'  is  the  barbarous 

cry; 
'He    must    triumph    tomorrow,    or,    perjured, 

must  die!' 

98 


The  Great  Voyage. 

Ungrateful  and  blind!  shall  the  world-linking 

sea 
He  traced  for  the  Future  his  sepulchre  be? 
Shall  that   sea,  or  the  morrow,  with  pitiless 

waves, 
Fling  his  corpse  on  that  shore  which  his  patient 

eye  craves? 
The  corpse  of  an  humble  adventurer  then; 
One    day    later — Columbus,    the    first    among 

men ! ' ' 

— Delavigne, 

*  *  One  day  more 
These  muttering  shoalbrains  leave  to  me : 
God,  let  me  not  in  their  dull  ooze  be  stranded; 
Let  not  this  one  frail  bark,  to  hollow  which 
I  have  dug  out  the  pith  and  sinewy  heart 
Of  my  aspiring  life 's  fair  trunk,  be  so 
Cast  up  to  warp  and  blacken  in  the  sun. 
Just  as  the  opposing  wind  'gins  whistle  ofj^ 
His  cheek-swollen  pack,  and  from  the  leaning 

mast 
Fortune's  full  sail  strains  forward!  ] 

One  poor  day! 
Remember  whose  and  not  how  short  it  is! 
It  is  God's  day,  it  is  Columbus'. 
A  lavish  day!  One  day,  with  life  and  heart. 
Is  more  than  time  enough  to  find  a  world." 

— James  Russell  Lowell. 
99 


Christopher  Columbus. 

**  Columbus  on  the  lonesome  deck 
Kept  watch  at  dead  of  night, 
Searching  with  anxious  eyes,  the  dark — 
What  sees  he  far  away?    A  spark, 
A  little  glimmering  light." 

\  T,  Trowbridge, 


*  *  Chosen  of  Men !  'Twas  thine,  at  noon  of  night. 
First  from  the  prow  to  hail  the  glimmering 

light; 
(Emblem  of  Truth  divine,  whose  secret  ray 
Enters  the  soul,  and  makes  the  darkness  day!) 

*  Pedro !  Eodrigo !  there,  methought,  it  shone ! 
There — in  the  West !  and  now,  alas,  'tis  gone ! 
'Twas  all  a  dream — we  gaze  and  gaze  in  vain ! 
— But  mark  and  speak  not,  there  it  comes  again ! 
It  moves!  what  form  unseen,  what  being  there 
With  torch-like  luster  fires  the  murky  air? 
His  instincts,  passions,  say,  how  like  our  own? 
Oh!  when  will  day  reveal  a  world  unknown?'  '' 

— Samuel  Rogers, 

**But  hush!  he  is  dreaming!  A  veil  on  the  main. 
At  the  distant  horizon,  is  parted  in  twain. 
And  now  on  his  dreaming  eye — rapturous  sight ! 
Fresh  bursts  the  New  World  from  the  darkness 
of  night! 

0  vision  of  glory,  how  dazzling  it  seems! 
How  glistens  the  verdure!     How  sparkle  the 
streams ! 

100 


The  Great  Voyage. 

How  blue  the  far  mountains!  how  glad  the 

green  isles! 
And  the  earth  and  the  ocean,  how  dimpled  with 

smiles ! 
*Joy!   joy!'   cries    Columbus,   *this   region   is 

mine ! ' 
— Ah !  not  e  'en  its  name,  wondrous  dreamer,  is 

thine ! 

At  length  o'er  Columbus   slow  consciousness 

breaks — 
^Land!  land!'  cry  the  sailors;  4and!  land!'  he 

awakes. 
He  runs — ^yes !  beholds  it !  it  blesses  his  sight — 
The  land !  0  dear  spectacle !  transport !  delight ! 
0  generous  sobs,  which  he  cannot  restrain! 
What  will  Ferdinand  say?  and  the  Future?  and 

Spain? 
He  will  lay  this  fair  land  at  the  foot  of  the 

throne — 
His  king  will  repay  all  the  ills  he  has  known ! ' ' 

— Delavigne, 

^^Then  boomed  the  Pinta's  signal  gun! 

The  first  that  ever  broke 
The  silence  of  a  world.    That  sound — 
Echoing  to  savage  depths  profound — 

A  continent  awoke. 

Wild  joy  possessed  each  sailor's  heart 
When  day  revealed  a  rich 

101 


Christopher  Columbus. 

And  fruitful  island,  fair  and  green, 
Where  naked  savages  were  seen 
Running  along  the  beach. 

The  Santa  Maria  moves  proudly  up. 

And  drops  her  anchor  nighest; 
And  ^ Glory  to  God'  the  sailors  sing. 
With  ^ Glory  to  God'  the  wild  woods  ring — 
'  Glory  to  God  in  the  highest ! ' 

The  boat  is  manned,  and  toward  the  land 

Swift  fly  the  flashing  oars ; 
High  at  the  prow  the  Admiral, 
In  princely  garb,  superb  and  tall, 

Surveys  the  savage  shores. 

They  touch  the  strand,  he  stepped  to  land. 

And  knelt  and  kissed  the  sod. 
With  all  his  followers.    Amazed 
Far  off  the  painted  redman  gazed, 

Believing  him  a  god. 

Then  up  rose  he  and  solemnly. 

With  bright  sword  drawn,  advanced 

The  standard  of  the  King  and  Queen ; 

On  its  rich  sheen  of  gold  and  green. 
The  sunlight  glory  glanced.'' 

— J.  T.  Troivhridge, 

*'In  robes  of  scarlet  and  princely  gold. 
On  the  New  World's  land  they  kneel; 
In  the  name  of  Christ,  whom  all  adore, 

102 


The  Great  Voyage. 

They  christened  the  island  San  Salvador, 
For  the  crown  of  their  own  Castile. 

And  the  simple  islanders  gazed  in  awe 
On  the  *gods  from  another  sphere'; 
And  they  brought  them  gifts  of  the  Yuca  bread, 
And  golden  trinkets  and  parrots  red, 
And  showed  them  the  islands  near. 

They  told  of  the  lords  of  the  golden  house, 

Of  the  mountains  of  Cibao ; 
The  cavern  where  once  the  moon  was  born, 
The  hills  that  waken  the  sun  at  morn. 

And  the  isles  where  the  spices  grow.'' 

—S.  H,  M.  Byers, 

*^With  wondering  awe,  the  redman  saw 

The  silken  cross  unfurled. 
His  task  was  done ;  for  good  or  ill. 
The  fatal  banner  of  Castile 

Waved  o'er  the  Western  World." 

T.  Trowbridge. 


*^Long  on  the  deep  the  mists  of  morning  lay. 
Then  rose,  revealing,  as  they  rolled  away. 
Half-circling  hills,  whose  everlasting  woods 
Sweep    with    their    sable    skirt    the    shadowy 

floods ; 
And  say,  when  all,  to  holy  transports  given. 
Embraced  and  wept  as  at  the  gates  of  Heaven, 
When  one  and  all  of  us,  repentant,  ran, 
And  on  our  faces,  blessed  the  wondrous  man — 

103 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Say,  was  I  then  deceived,  or  from  the  skies 
Burst  on  my  ear  seraphic  harmonies'? 

*  Glory  to  God!'  unnumbered  voices  sung, 

*  Glory  to  God ! '  the  vales  and  mountains  rung, 
Voices  that  hailed  Creation's  primal  morn 
And  to  the  shepherds  sung  a  Savior  born. 

Slowly,  bare-headed,  through  the  surf  we  bore 
The   sacred   Cross,   and,   kneeling,   kissed  the 
shore. 

But  what  a  scene  was  there!    Nymphs  of  ro- 
mance. 
Youths,  graceful  as  the  fawn,  with  eager  glance, 
Spring  from  the  glades  and  down  the  alleys 

peep. 
Then  head-long  rush,  bounding  from  steep  to 

steep. 
And  clap  their  hands,  exclaiming  as  they  run, 
*Come  and  behold  the  children  of  the  Sun!'  " 

— Samuel  Rogers, 

**He  was  a  man  whom  danger  could  not  daunt. 

Nor  sophistry  perplex,  nor  pain  subdue; 
A  stoic,  reckless  of  the  world's  vain  taunt. 

And  steeled  the  path  of  honor  to  pursue : 
So,  when  by  all  deserted,  still  he  knew 

How  best  to  soothe  the  heartsick,  or  confront 
Sedition;  schooled  with  equal  eye  to  view 

The  frowns  of  grief  and  the  base  pangs  of 
want. 

104 


The  Great  Voyage. 

But  when  lie  saw  that  promised  land  arise 
In  all  its  rare  and  beautiful  varieties 

Lovelier  than  fondest  fancy  ever  trod, 
Then  softening  nature  melted  in  his  eyes; 

He  knew  his  fame  was  full,  and  blessed  his  God, 

And  fell  upon  his  face  and  kissed  the  virgin 

sod!'' 

— Aubrey  de  Vere. 

*^Then  first  Columbus,  with  the  mighty  hand 
Of  grasping  genius,  weighed  the  sea  and  land; 
The  floods  o'er  balanced — ^where  the  tide  of 

light. 
Day  after  day,  rolled  down  the  gulf  of  night. 
There  seemed  one  waste  of  waters — long  in 

vain 
His  spirits  brooded  o'er  the  Atlantic  main; 

When  sudden,  as  creation  burst  from  naught. 
Sprang  a  new  world  through  his  stupendous 

thought. 
Light,  order,  beauty !    While  his  mind  explored 
The  unveiling  mystery,  his  heart  adored; 
Where'er  sublime  imagination  trod. 
He  heard  the  voice,  he  saw  the  face,  of  God. 

The  winds  are  prosperous,  and  the  billows  bore 
The  brave  adventurer  to  the  promised  shore; 
Far  in  the  west,  arrayed  in  purple  light, 
Dawn'd   the   New   World    on   his   enraptured 
sight : 

105 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Not    Adam,    loosened    from    the    encumbering 

earth, — 
Waked  by  the  breath  of  God  to  instant  birth, — 
With  sweeter,  wilder  wonder  gazed  around. 
When  life  within,  and  light  without,  he  found; 
When,  all  creation  rushing  o'er  his  soul. 
He  seemed  to  live  and  breathe  throughout  the 

whole. 

So  felt  Columbus,  when,  divinely  fair. 

At  the  last  look  of  resolute  despair. 

The  Hesperian  Isles,  from  distance  dimly  blue. 

With  gradual  beauty  opened  on  his  view. 

In  that  proud  moment,  his  transported  mind 
The  morning  and  the  evening  worlds  combined. 
And  made  the  sea,  that  sundered  them  before, 
A  bond  of  peace,  uniting  shore  to  shore.*' 


ames  Montgomery, 


''His  hour  of  eager  hope,  when  through  the 

night. 
On  his  lone  watch,  a  far-off  light 
Flashed,  like  a  beacon,  on  his  startled  sight. 

His  hour  of  triumph,  when  the  air  was  stirred 
With  scented  breeze  and  wing  of  forest  bird. 
And  from  aloft  the  cry  of  'Land!'  was  heard. 

But  not  the  land  he  sought ;  how  strange  the  lot 
By  Fortune  cast,  his  one  bright  page  to  blot ; 
He  found  the  New  World  and  he  knew  it  not! 

106 


The  Great  Voyage. 

Nor  ever  knew;  the  throne  of  Kubla  Khan 
Four  times  he  sought  and  then,  beneath  the  ban 
Of  failure,  died — a  broken-hearted  man. 

The  shores  he  gained  were  Asia's  shores  to 

him; 
His  later  cup  of  Fame,  filled  to  the  brim, 
He  tasted  not,  nor  even  touched  the  rim. 

But  though  he  walked  not  in  the  full-orbed  light 
Of  his  own  fame,  and  died  without  its  sight. 
Yet  was  he  first  in  time  and  first  in  right — 

The  great  Discoverer — whose  soul  of  flame 
Lighted  the  path  for  all  who  ever  came 
To  this  New  World,  which  should  have  borne 
his  name. 

Judge  not  by  what  he  thought,  but  what  he  did. 
When,  once  for  all,  he  rent  the  veil  that  hid 
The  Toltec  shrine  from  Egypt's  pyramid, 

And  entering  in,  the  first  of  Pioneers, 
For  all  Mankind  and  all  the  coming  years. 
Set  face  to  face  the  sundered  Hemispheres. 

Not  for  Castile  and  Leon's  narrow  bound. 
Nor  for  Granada's  sovereigns,  doubly  crowned. 
Was  the  new  Western  World  Columbus  found. 

Nor  for  the  ancient  Empires,  crushed  and  rent 
By  wars  and  kingcraft,  was  his  life-work  spent 
To  add  another  Continent: 

107 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Nor  yet  to  plant  anew  his  Latin  race, 

Whose  conquering  march,  with  fire  and  sword, 

we  trace 
From  Cuba's  capes  to  Chimborazo's  base. 

Where  Nature 's  sunlit  sky  and  tropic  hue 
From  distant  Spain  the  bold  adventurers  drew 
To  graft  the  Old  World  stock  upon  the  New. 

Northward,  the  issue  of  his  work  outran 
These  narrow  bounds,  to  shape  the  unfolding 

plan 
That  to  its  goal  uplifts  the  race  of  Man. 

In  grander  realms  than  Cortez'  iron  hand 
Snatched  from  the  Aztec,  or  Pizarro's  hand 
From  captive  Incas  wrung,  with   sword  and 
brand. 

To  plant  a  New  World  State,  full  armed  to  cope 
With  Old  World  wrongs  and  girt  with  amplest 

scope 
For  every  human  need  and  human  hope. 

Where  all  that  Toil  has  gained,  or  Truth  has 

taught, 
And    all    the    victories    won    where    Freedom 

fought. 
Forever  crown  the  work  Columbus  wrought. 

And  if,  today,  it  is  our  right  to  claim 

The  full  inheritance  of  his  groat  fame 

And  bid  the  whole  World  welcome  in  his  name, 

108 


The  Great  Voyage. 

Blent  with  our  loftiest  note   of  praise   shall 

soar — 
A  distant  echo  from  a  far-off  shore — 
His  first  Te  Deum  at  San  Salvador/' 

— William  Allen  Butler. 

^ '  God  chose  thee  out,  0  man  of  faith  and  pray- 
er, 
And  sent  thee  o'er  the  deep — if  truth  be  told. 
Neither  ambition's  greed  nor  lust  of  gold 
Could  make  thy  heart  so  confidently  dare. 
^The  boldest  steer,'  the  poet  saith,  ^but  where 
Their  ports  invite.'    Yet  thou,  divinely  bold, 
Didst  little  reck  what  wrathful  billows  rolled 
'Twixt  thee  and  shores  imagined — ^havens  fair 
Which    seemed    to    lesser    minds    the    veriest 

^  stuff 
That  dreams  are  made  of. ' 

Into  the  vast  unknown 

Thou  wentest  forth — in  steadfast  hope,  alone. 
But  God  was  with  thee :  for  thy  peace  enough. 
His  breezes  served  thee;  and  when  seas  were 

dark. 
His  stars  more  surely  led  thy  destined  bark. 

Ay,  and  for  thee  a  Star  shone  all  the  way 
Which   others   would  not   see — the   Queen   of 

Stars ; 
Brighter  than  Venus,  Jupiter  and  Mars 
In  one ;  and  clearest  'mid  the  blaze  of  day : 
The  Ocean  Star,  whose  sweetly  constant  ray 

109 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Smiled  calmness  on  a  brow  no  petty  jars 
Could  vex — a   brow   where  pain  had  printed 

scars 
Which  told  of  vanquished  self  through  years  of 

fray. 
Thy  soul,  uplifted  ever  to  the  light 
Of  that  true  Guide  whose  name  thy  vessel  bore, 
Took  her  for  pilot.  Morning,  noon  and  night. 
To  her  thine  *Aves^  rose:  and  more  and  more 
Thy  trust  increased,  the  sullen  crew  despite — 
Their    menace    deadlier    than    the    tempest  ^s 

—Benjamin  D.  Hill,  C.  P. 

**A  fertile  continent  thou  gav^st  mankind, 
Which  only  lay  in  lonely  idleness; 
Through  sufferings  terrible,  and  great  distress 
This  was  accomplished;  for  thy  noble  mind 
And   faith  excelled   all   others — thou   stood 'st 

alone. 
But  thou  didst  know  thyself — as  now  thou'rt 

known — 
And  thou  didst  prove  thy  disbelievers  blind. 

Immortal  man,  the  world  yet  owes  to  thee 
A  tribute  for  thy  hardships  and  thy  pain; 
Thy  misery  proved  in  truth  to  be  its  gain, 
Thy  woes  have  given  to  it  prosperity. 
Four  centuries  have  praised  thy  lofty  name. 
And  ages  yet  to  come  will  keep  thy  fame. 
And  glory  in  thy  deathless  memory.'' 

— Albert  J.  Rupp. 
110 


The  Great  Voyage. 

^^What  no  man  saw  lie  saw;  he  heard  what  no 

man  heard. 

In  answer  he  compelled  the  sea 

To  eager  man  to  tell 

The  secret  she  had  kept  so  well! 

Left  blood  and  guilt  and  tyranny  behind 

Sailing  still  West  the  hidden  shore  to  find; 

For  all  mankind  that  unstained  scroll  unfurled, 

Where  God  might  write  anew  the  story  of  the 

World." 

— Edward  Everett  Hale. 


^^How  in  God's  name  did  Columbus  get  over 
Is  a  pure  wonder  to  me,  I  protest, 

Cabot,  and  Raleigh,  too,  that  well-bred  rover, 
Frobisher,  Dampier,  Drake,  and  the  rest. 

Bad  enough  all  the  same, 

For  them  that  after  came. 

But,  in  great  heaven's  name. 

How  he  should  ever  think 

That  on  the  other  brink 

Of  this  wild  -waste,  terra  firma  should  be 

Is  a  pure  wonder,  I  must  say,  to  me. 

How  a  man  ever  should  hope  to  get  thither, 
E  'en  if  he  knew  that  there  was  another  side, 

But  to  suppose  he  should  come  any  whither. 
Sailing  straight  on  into  chaos  untried, 

In  spite  of  the  motion 

Across  the  whole  ocean. 

To  stick  to  the  notion 

111 


Christopher  Columbus. 

That  in  some  nook  or  bend 

Of  a  sea  without  end 

He  should  find  North  and  South  America, 

Was  a  pure  madness,  indeed,  I  must  say,  to  me. 

What  if  wise  men  had,  as  far  back  as  Ptolemy, 
Judged  that  the  earth  like  an  orange  was 
round. 

None  of  them  ever  said,  *Come  along,  follow 
me. 
Sail  to  the  West,  and  the  East  will  be  found/ 

Many  a  day  before 

Ever  they^d  come  ashore. 

From  the  *San  Salvador,^ 

Sadder  and  wiser  men 

They'd  have  turned  back  again; 

And  that  he  did  not,  but  did  cross  the  sea. 

Is  a  pure  wonder,  I  must  say,  to  me. ' ' 

— Arthur  Hugh  Clough, 

*^Who  doubts  has  met  defeat  ere  blows  can  fall; 
Who  doubts  must  die  with  no  palm  in  his  hand ; 
Who  doubts  shall  never  be  of  that  high  band 
Which  clearly  answers  *  Present!'  to  Death's 

call. 
For  Faith  is  life,  and,  though  a  funeral  pall 
Veil  our  fair  Hope,  and  on  our  promised  land 
A  mist  malignant  hang,  if  Faith  but  stand 
Among  our  ruins,  we  shall  conquer  all. 
0  faithful  soul,  that  knew  no  doubting  low; 
0  Faith  incarnate,  lit  by  Hope's  strong  flame, 

112 


The  Great  Voyage. 

And  led  by  Faith's  own  cross  to  dare  all  ill 
And  find  our  world ! — but  more  than  this  we  owe 
To  thy  true  heart ;  thy  pure  and  glorious  name 
Is  one  clear  trumpet  call  to  Faith  and  Will. ' ' 

— Maurice  Francis  Egan. 

^^From  isle  to  island  the  ships  flew  on, 

Like  white  birds  on  the  main, 
Till  the  master  said,  *  With  my  flags  unfurled, 
I  have  opened  the  gates  of  another  world. 

I  will  carry  the  news  to  Spain.' 

It  was  seven  months  since  at  Palos  town 

Ere  the  noon  of  that  summer's  day. 
The  good  ships  sailed,  with  their  flags  unfurled. 
In  search  of  another  and  far-off  world — 
And  again  they  are  in  the  bay." 

—S.  H.  M.  Byers. 


113 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  SMILE  OF  A  KING: 

BARCELONA. 

^^Back  to  my  time,  O  listener,  turn  with  me, 
And  hear  of  islands  all  unknown  to  thee ! 
Islands  whereof  the  grand  discovery 
Chanced  in  this  year  of  fourteen  ninety-three; 
One  Christopher  Colombo,  whose  resort 
Was  ever  in  the  King  Fernando 's  court. 
Bent  himself  still  to  rouse  and  stimulate 
The  king  to  swell  the  borders  of  his  State. ' ' 

— Giuliano  Dati. 

' '  To  the  invincible  king  of  the  Spains : 

Less  wide  to  the  world  than  the  renown  of 

Spain, 
To  swell  her  triumps  no  new  lands  remain ! 
Rejoice,  Iberia!    See  thy  fame  increase! 
Another  world  Columbus  from  the  east 
And  the  mid-ocean  summons  to  thy  way ! 
Give  thanks  to  him ;  but  loftier  homage  pay 
To  God  Supreme,  who  gives  its  realms  to  thee ! 
Greatest  of  monarchs,  first  of  servants  be.'' 

— Leonardo  de  Carminis, 

115 


Christopher  Columbus. 

TO  THE  MOST  INVINCIBLE  KING  OF  SPAIN. 

**No  region  now  can  add  to  Spain's  great  deeds : 
To  such  men  all  the  world  is  yet  too  small. 
An  Orient  land,  found  far  beyond  the  waves, 
Will  add,  great  Betica,  to  thy  renown. 
Then  to  Columbus,  the  true  finder,  give 
Due  thanks ;  but  greater  still  to  God  on  high. 
Who  makes  new  kingdoms  for  Himself  and 

thee: 
Both  firm  and  pious  let  thy  conduct  be.'' 

— R.  L,  Corbaria. 

*  *  The  drear,  chill  gray  of  dawning  day 

Dies  in  a  golden  glow, 
And  merrily  on  the  dancing  sea 

The  rippling  sunbeams  flow; 
And  they  glance  and  glint,  in  many  a  tint. 

Over  minaret  and  tower. 
Where  the  lofty  cross  shows  Paynim's  loss 

And  the  wane  of  Moslem  power. 
And  waving  high  in  the  brightening  sky. 
Floating  o'er  town  and  sea. 
And  gleaming  bright  in  the  morning  light, 
Spain's  flag  flaunts  haughtily." 

Front-de-Boeuf. 

**That  was  a  glorious  day 

That  dawned  on  Barcelona.     Banners  filled 

The  thronging  towers,  the  old  bell  rung,  and 

blast 
Of  lordly  trumpets  seemed  to  reach  the  sky 

116 


The  Smile  of  a  King. 

Cerulean.    All  Spain  had  gathered  there, 
And     waited     there     his     coming;     Castilian 

knights, 
Gay  cavaliers,  hidalgos  young,  and  e  ^en  the  old 
Puissant  grandees  of  far  Aragon 
With  glittering  mail,  and  waving  plumes,  and 

all 
The  peasant  multitude  with  bannerets 
And  charms  and  flowers. 

Beneath  pavilions 

Of  brocades  of  gold,  the  Court  had  met. 

The  dual  crowns  of  Leon  old  and  proud  Castile 

There  waited  him,  the  peasant  mariner. 

The  trumpets  waited 

Near  the  open  gates;  the  minstrels  young  and 

fair 
Upon  the  tapestried  and  arrased  walls. 
And  everywhere  from  all  the  happy  provinces 

the  wandering  troubadours. 

Afar  was  heard 

A  cry,  a  long  acclaim.    Afar  was  seen 

A  proud  and  stately  steed  with  nodding  plumes. 

Bridled  with  gold,  whose  rider  stately  rode, 

And  still  afar  a  long  and  sinuous  train 

Of  silvery  cavaliers.    A  shout  arose. 

And  all  the  city,  all  the  vales  and  hills. 

With  silver  trumpets  rung.'' 

— Hezehiali  Buttenvorth. 

117 


Christopher  Columbus. 

**Who  passes  through  the  antique  street 

Worshiped  by  all  around? 
Whom  do  the  thousand  voices  greet 

That  to  the  heavens  resound? 
Proud  is  the  flash  of  his  dark  eye, 
Yet  tempered  with  humility; 
The  softened  radiance,  high  yet  meek, 
That  doth  the  Christian  soul  bespeak; 
Proud  is  his  heaving  bosom's  swell, 
And  proud  his  seat  in  velvet  selle; 
His  very  courser  paws  the  earth 
As  conscious  of  his  master's  worth.'' 

— Front-de-Boeuf. 

**A  thousand  trumpets  ring  within  old  Barce- 
lona's walls, 

A  thousand  gallant  nobles  throng  in  Barce- 
lona's halls. 

All  met  to  gaze  on  him  who  wrought  a  path- 
way for  mankind. 

Through  seas  as  broad,  to  worlds  as  rich  as 
his  triumphant  mind; 

And  King  and  Queen  will  grace  forsooth  the 
mariner's  array. 

The  lonely  seaman,  scoffed  and  scorned  in  Pa- 

los  town  one  day. 
He  comes,  he  comes!     The  gates  swing  wide, 

and  through  the  streets  advance 
His  cavalcade  in  proud  parade,  with  plume 

and  pennoned  lance, 

118 


The  Smile  of  a  King. 

And  natives  of  those  new-found  worlds,  and 

treasures  all  untold — 
And  in  their  midst  the  Admiral,  his  charger 

trapped  with  gold; 

And  all  with  joy  are  wild,  and  blithe  the  glad- 
some clarions  swell, 

And  dames  and  princes  press  to  greet,  and  loud 
the  myriads  yell. 

They  cheer,  that  mob,  they  wildly  cheer — Co- 
lumbus checks  his  rein, 

And  bends  him  to  the  beauteous  dames  and 
cavaliers  of  Spain." 

*^He  came,  the  Genoese, 

With  reverent  look  and  calm  and  lofty  mien, 

And  saw  the  wondering  eyes  and  heard  the 

cries 
And  trumpet  peals,  as  one  who  followed  still 
Some  Guide  unseen. 

Before  his  steed 

Crowned  Indians  marched  with  lowly  faces. 
And  wondered  at  the  new  world  that  they  saw ; 
Gay  parrots    shouted   from   their   gold-bound 

arms, 
And  from  their  crests  swept  airy  plumes. 

The  sun 

Shone  full  in  splendor  on  the  scene,  and  here 
The  old  and  new  world  met.    But — 
Hark!  the  heralds! 

119 


Christopher  Columbus. 

How  they  thrill  all  hearts  and  fill  all  eyes  with 

tears ! 
The  very  air  seems  throbbing  with  delight; 
Hark!  hark!  they  cry,  in  chorus  all  they  cry: 
^A  Castilla  y  a  Leon,  a  Castilla  y  a  Leon, 
Nuevo  mundo  dio  Colon!' 

Every  heart  now  beats  with  his, 
The  stately  rider  on  whose  calm  face  shines 
A  heaven-born  inspiration.    Still  the  shout: 
'Nuevo  mundo  dio  Colon!'  how  it  rings! 
From  wall  to  wall,  from  knights  and  cavaliers, 
And  from  the  multitudinous  throngs, 
A  mighty  chorus  of  the  vales  and  hills ! 
'A  Castilla  y  a  Leon!'  " 

— Hezehiah  Butterworth. 

*  ^  And  now  his  armed  heel  loud  rings 
Through  a  high,  carved  hall. 
Where  blazoned  shields  of  queens  and  kings 
Hang  fluttering  on  the  wall. 
Around,  the  noblest  of  the  land 
In  deepest  awe  uncovered  stand: 
Princes  whose  proud  sires  had  well 
Upheld  the  cross  with  Charles  Martel; 
And  knights  whose  scutcheons  flashed  amid 
The  fiercest  fight  where  blazed  the  Cid; 
Soldiers  who  by  their  sovereign's  side 
Hurled  back  in  blood  the  seething  tide 
Of  Moslem  war;  and  churchmen  sage. 
The  men  that  smoothed  that  iron  age. 

120 


The  Smile  of  a  King. 

And  all  alone  'mid  that  bright  throng, 
His  voice  arises  clear  and  strong. 
He  stands  before  a  throne;  even  now 
His  dark  plume  waves  above  his  brow, 
As  he,  of  all  the  courtier  train, 
Eivaled  the  majesty  of  Spain. 
Fortune  like  this,  what  cloud  can  mar? 
He  stands — a  cloudless,  risen  star." 

— Front-de-Boeuf, 

''He  told  his  tale: 
The  untried  deep,  the  green  Sargosso  Sea, 
The  varying  compass,  the  affrighted  crews. 
The  hymn  they  sung  on  every  doubtful  eve. 
The  sweet  hymn  to  the  Virgin. 

How  there  came 
The  land  birds  singing,  and  the  drifting  weeds. 
How  broke  the  morn  on  fair  San  Salvador, 
How  the  Te  Deum  on  that  isle  was  sung 
And  how  the  cross  was  lifted  in  the  name 
Of  Leon  and  Castile.'' 

— HezeJciah  Butterworth. 

**From  the  accomplished  triumph  here  am  I! 
I  have  no  triumph  to  report,  my  Queen; 
No  mere  achievement;  yet  a  truth  so  strange 
That  Indies  sink  to  insignificance — 
Though  the  significance  were  Indies'  still! 
I  have  come  through  some  tempests  of  the  soul 
More  vast  than  ocean-thunders;  and  have  seen 
In  Storm-burst  vision  of  vitality 

121 


Christopher  Columbus. 

New-born  to  earth  but  by  the  wreck  of  all 
Which  hitherto  hath  held  us :  you,  my  queen, 
God  and  our  empire  all  within  that  wreck 

Concluded,  victims  of  that  visioning. 

*         *         *         ^         * 

Nay,  hearken  me! 
The  seas  have  heard  me,  and  I  speak  their 

voice ! — 
Here  are  these  Indies  newly  at  your  feet 
Laid  for  the  glory  of  your  faith  and  mine. 
They  shall  be  vast  and  great;  and  on  their 

wealth 
Spain's  resources  be  upbuilded  many  years.'* 

— Reginald  C.  Robhins. 

^^And  then  he  turned 
His  face  towards  heaven.    ^  0  Queen !  0  Queen ! 
There    kingdoms    wait    the    triumphs    of    the 
cross!' 

Then  Isabella  rose, 
With  face  illumed :  then  overcome  with  joy 
She  sank  upon  her  knees,  and  king  and  court 
And  nobles  rose  and  knelt  beside  her. 
And  followed  them  the  sobbing  multitude; 

Then  came  a  burst  of  joy,  a  chorus  grand. 

And  mighty  antiphon 

'We  praise  thee,  Lord,  and.  Lord,  acknowledge 

thee. 
And  give  thee  glory!     Holy!  Holy!  Holy!'  '' 
— Hezekiah  Biitterworth. 
122 


The  Smile  of  a  King. 

"I  saw  your  face  that  morning  in  the  crowd 
At  Barcelona — tho'  you  were  not  then 
So  bearded.     Yes.     The  city  decked  herself 
To  meet  me,  roared  my  name;  the  king,  the 

queen. 
Bade  me  be  seated,  speak,  and  tell  them  all 
The  story  of  my  voyage,  and  while  I  spoke 
The  crowd's  roar  fell  as  at  the  ^ Peace,  be  still!' 

And  when  I  ceased  to   speak,   the  king,   the 

queen. 
Sank  from  their  thrones,  and  melted  into  tears. 
And  knelt,  and  lifted  hand  and  heart  and  voice 
In  praise  to  God  who  led  me  thro'  the  waste; 
And  then  the  great  ^Laudamus'  rose  to  heav- 


en." 


— Alfred  Tennyson. 


^^The  twilight  roses  bloomed 
In  the  far  skies  o'er  Barcelona. 
The  gentle  Indians  came  and  stood  before 
The  throne,  and  smiled  the  queen,  and  said, 
^I  see  my  gems  again.'  " 

— Hezehiah  Butterworth. 

**  Twelve  months  have  passed,   and  the  king 
again 

Holds  levee  with  all  his  train. 
And  Columbus  sits  at  the  king's  right  hand. 
And  VN^hether  on  sea  or  upon  the  land. 

Is  the  greatest  man  in  Spain. 

123 


Christopher  Columbus. 

And  the  queen  has  honored  him  most  of  all, 

She  has  taken  him  by  the  hand, 
*Don  Christopher  thou  shalt  be  called  away'; 
And  a  golden  cross  on  his  heart  there  lay. 

And  over  his  breast  a  band. 

And  ships  she  gave,  and  a  thousand  men. 

With  nobles  and  knights  in  train; 
And  again  the  convent  bells  they  rung. 
And   the   praise   of  his  name   was   on   every 
tongue, 
As  he  sailed  for  the  West  again. 

To  the  thousand  isles  and  far-away 

In  the  heats  of  the  torrid  zone, 
To  gardens  fair  as  Hesperides, 
To  spice-grown  forests,  and  scented  seas, 

Where  no  sails  had  ever  blown. 

And  up  and  down  by  the  New  World  ^s  coast. 

And  over  the  western  main. 
With  but  the  arms  of  his  own  true  word, 
He  lifted  the  flag  of  the  Blessed  Lord 

And  the  flag  of  the  land  of  Spain. 

And  he  gave  them  all  to  the  king  and  queen, 

And  riches  of  things  untold. 
And  never  a  ship  that  crossed  the  sea 
But  brought  them  tokens  from  fruit  and  tree 

And  gems  from  the  land  of  gold. 


124 


The  Smile  of  a  King. 

Three  times  lie  had  sailed  to  his  new-found 
world, 

Five  times  he  had  crossed  the  main, 
When  walking  once  by  the  sea  he  heard, — 
By  secret  letter  or  secret  word, — 

Of  a  murderous  plot  in  Spain. 

How  that  envious  persons  about  the  court 

Had  poisoned  the  mind  of  the  king. 
By  many  a  letter  of  false  report. 
By  base  suspicion  of  evil  sort. 
And  words  of  a  traitorous  sting. 

And  the  king,  half  eager  to  hear  the  worst, — 

For  he  never  had  been  a  friend, — 
Believed  it  all,  and  he  rued  the  hour 
He  gave  to  the  master  rank  and  power, 
And  resolved  it  should  have  an  end. 

So  with  cold  pretense  of  the  truth  to  hear, 

And  with  heart  that  was  false  as  base, 
A  ship  was  hurried  across  the  main. 
With  Boabdilla,  false  knight  of  Spain, 
To  take  the  admiral's  place. 

0  that  kings  should  ever  unkingly  be! 

0  that  men  should  ever  forget! 
For  that  fatal  hour  the  false  knight  came, 
To  the  king's  disgrace  and  the  great  world's 
shame. 

The  star  of  Columbus  set. 

125 


Christopher  Columbus. 

They  took  the  queen's  cross  from  off  his  breast, 

And  chains  they  gave  him  instead; 
And  iron  gyves  on  his  wrists  they  put, 
Vile  fetters  framed  for  each  hand  and  foot, 
*  'Twere  better  they'd  left  him  dead.'  " 

—S.  H,  M.  Byers. 

*^Once  more  'tis  the  mid-hour  of  night; 

Once  more  the  storm  beats  high; 
But  now  it  hurls  its  fearful  might 

Along  the  cloud-frought  sky 
Which  spans  the  drear  Atlantic's  waste 

All  whitened  with  wild  foam. 
That  cleaves  the  air,  as  sea-birds  haste 

At  even  to  their  home. 
But  even  there,  where  Nature's  power 

Laughs  puny  man  to  scorn, 
Man  lords  it  for  his  little  hour 

O'er  fellowman  forlorn. 
Within  a  vessel's  creaking  sides 

A  chained  prisoner  sits, — 
Drooped,  weary,  careless  what  betides 

His  tired  soul,  ere  it  flits 
Far  from  a  world  where  gratitude 
Yields  ever  to  the  selfish  brood 
That  gold  and  thirst  for  honor  bring 
To  breast  of  peasant  and  of  king. 
What  now  avails  the  world  he  gave 
To  thankless  Spain?    It  cannot  save 
From  slavish  chains  its  whilom  lord, 

126 


The  Smile  of  a  King. 

Nor  shield  him  from  the  hatred  poured 
O'er  his  bowed  head  by  those  who  late 
But  formed  the  puppets  of  his  state.'' 

Front-de-Boeuf. 

*^For  he  who  was  first  of  the  new-found  world 

And  bravest  upon  the  main, 
Who  had  found  the  isles  of  the  fabled  gold, 
And  the  far-off  lands  that  his  faith  foretold 

Was  dragged  like  a  felon  to  Spain. 

But  the  whole  world  heard  the  clank  of  his 
chains 

When  he  landed  in  Cadiz  bay. 
And  fearing  the  taunt  and  the  curse  and  scoff. 
The  false  king  hurried  to  take  them  off 

At  the  pier  where  the  old  ship  lay." 

—8.  H,  M,  Byers. 


127 


m*t^ 


^^^l^fltri  tTTTi 


Columbus  in  Chains 

This  beautiful  statue  by  Vallmitjana,  the  most  noted  of  modern  Spanish  sculptors,  is  a 
model  ill  clay  presented  by  Gabriel  Millet  to  the  Sociedad  Economica  of  Havana  in 
l(S8l.  It  pictures  Columbus  at  the  age  of  GO  years,  and  rcjpresents  the  great  navigator 
in  chains,  on  his  way  to  Spain. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


IGNOMINY  AND  DEATH: 

VALLALODID. 

**Are  these  the  honors  they  reserve  for  me, 
Chains  for  the  man  who  gave  new  worlds  to 

Spain ! 
Rest   here,   my   swelling   heart! — O   kings,   0 

queens. 
Patrons  of  monsters  and  their  progeny. 
Authors    of    wrong,    and    slaves    to    fortune 

merely ! 
Why  was  I  seated  by  my  prince's  side. 
Honored,  caressed  like  some  first  peer  of  Spain? 
Was  it  that  I  might  fall  most  suddenly 
From  honor's  summit  to  the  sink  of  scandal? 
*         *         *         *         * 

Whoe'er  that  art  that  shalt  aspire  to  honor, 
And  on  the  strength  and  vigor  of  the  mind 
Vainly  depending,  court  a  monarch's  favor. 
Pointing  the  way  to  vast  extended  empire : — 
First  count  your  pay  to  be  ingratitude, 
Then  chains   and  prisons,   and  disgrace   like 

mine ! 
Each  wretched  pilot  now  shall  spread  his  sails 
And  treading  in  my  footsteps,  hail  new  worlds. 
Which,  but  for  me,  had  still  been  empty  vis- 

^^^^' ' '  -^Philip  Freneau, 

129 


Christopher  Columbus. 

**And  was  it  all  for  this — 
To  see  his  fondest  hopes  belied, 
His  name  reviled,  his  every  prayer  denied. 
Himself  an  outcast  from  his  new-found  home, 
His  glory's  meed  a  traitor's  shameful  doom. 

Such  are  the  thoughts  (might  skill  of  mine  pre- 
sume 
To  read  aright  that  sullen  brow  of  gloom). 
The  musings  such  of  anguish  and  unrest 
That  vex  the  captive  Hero's  fevered  breast; 
Pressed  through  the  lips,  though  pride  enchain 

the  tongue. 
Words    burn,    wherein   to    speak   the    spirit's 
wrong : 

*  Darkly,  Oh,  darkly  lowers  the  coming  night; 
From  leaden  skies  fast  fades  the  quivering 

ligM 
Whose  faithless  dawn  but  now  allured  me  on 
To  glorious  deeds  which  cannot  be  undone. 
Woe  worth  my  country,  since  the  sons  of  Spain 
Guerdon  Columbus  with  the  felon's  chain. 
Woe  worth  the  unequal  law  that  matched  in 

strife 
The  rival  forces  that  divide  our  life. 
Where  love  and  hate  alternate,  good  and  ill, 
Control  the  drift  of  man's  ignoble  will. 
And  what  is  man?    Vile  creature  of  a  day, 
Degenerate  mass  of  animated  clay, 
Cursed  with  a  soul  that  shall  not,  cannot  die, 

130 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

Heir  of  a  hopeless  immortality? 

Avannt  thee,  Fiend.     Wild  pangs  my  bosom 

tear, 
Reels  my  sick  brain  all  maddening  with  despair, 
No  kindly  spell  the  agony  to  calm. 
In  heaven  no  ray,  on  earth  no  soothing  balm. 

To  thee,  Blest  Maid,  I  turn.    When  dark  and 

drear 
Fortune  frowned  on  me,  thou  wast  ever  near. 
With    smile   undimmed,   with    soft   unclouded 

brow. 
Mother  of  God,  thou  wilt  not  leave  me  now? 
And  one  there  is,  one  mild  angelic  form. 
Seen  through  the  mist-wreaths  of  the  gathering 

storm ; 
A  child  of  earth,  of  more  than  queenly  grace. 
More  than  a  queen,  though  sprung  of  queenly 

race; 
Her  thought  shall  woo  my  angry  tongue  to  bless 
When  it  would  curse  men  for  their  heartless- 

ness.' 

Dwells  there  a  mystic  spell,  a  power  unseen 
Shrined  in  the  memory  of  that  saintly  queen? 
Or  deigns  the  Virgin  list  her  suppliant's  prayer. 
And  lull  to  sleep  the  ravings  of  despair? 

Lost  in  the  dreams  of  earlier,  happier  hours 
He  roams  once  more  through  Genoa's  myrtle 
bowers ; 

131 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Again  he  sports  beneath  the  cypress  shade, 
Treads  the  dark  grove,  or  high-arched  colon- 
nade, 
Or  rifles  Nature's  store  for  each  bright  gem 
That  helps  to  wreathe  his  flowery  diadem, 
Or,  prescient  of  the  future,  loves  to  guide 
His  mimic  pinnace  o'er  the  lashing  tide. 
Scanning    even    then    with    boyhood's    eager 

glance 
The  rolling  Ocean's  infinite  expanse; 
No  ministrel  lay,  no  music  half  so  dear 
As  the  loud  breakers  to  his  listening  ear. ' ' 

— Henry  Nidcomhe  Oxenham,  M.  A, 

**And  next  (0  sad  and    shameful    sight!)  ex- 
posed 
On  the  high  deck  of  returning  bark 
(Returning  from  that  land  so  lately  found!) 
A  spectacle!  those  aged,  honored  limbs 
Gyved  like  a  felon's,  while  the  hooting  crowd 
Sent  curses  in  her  wake. 

But  when  arrived. 
Again  exalted,  favored  of  the  crown. 
And  courted  by  the  noblest — who  forgets. 
With  his  gray  hairs,  uncovered,  how  he  knelt 
Before  his  royal  mistress,  (that  great  heart 
Nor  insult,  nor  disgrace,  nor  chains  could  move, 
O'ercome    with    kindness,)     weeping    like    a 
child!" 

— Henry  Howard  Brownell. 

132 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

*^But  little  it  helped,  nor  the  king's  false  smile 

As  he  sat  in  his  robes  of  state ; 

For  wrong  is  wrong,  if  in  hut  or  hall, 

And  the  right  were  as  well  not  done  at  all, 

If  done,  alas!  too  late. 

And  little  it  helped  if  here  and  there 
The  mantle  of  favor  stole 
Across  his  shoulders  to  hide  the  stain 
Of  a  broken  heart  or  a  broken  chain — 
They  had  burned  too  deep  in  his  soul. 

So  the  years  crept  by,  and  the  cold  neglect 
Of  kings  that  will  come  the  while; — 
Forever  and  ever  'tis  still  the  same  — 
Short-lived 's  the  glory  of  him  whose  fame 
Depends  on  a  prince's  smile. 

And  long  he  thought,  could  he  see  the  queen. 
Could  he  speak  with  her  face  to  face. 
She  would  know  the  truth  and  would  be  again 
What  once  she  was  ere  his  hopes  were  slain; 
And  he  sighed  in  his  lonely  place. 

And  on  a  day  when  he  seemed  forgot, 

And  darker  the  fates,  and  grim, 

A  letter  came,  'twas  the  queen's  command, 

^Come    straight    to    court,'    in   her    own    fair 

hand, — 
^And  she  would  be  true  to  him.' 


133 


Christopher  Columbus. 

And  alas  for  man,  and  alas  for  queen, 

And  alas  for  hopes  so  sped ! 

He  had  only  come  to  the  castle  gate 

When  the  warder  said,  *It  is  late — too  late. 

For  the  queen  she  is  lying  dead.' 

Gone  is  his  kindly  mistress — laid 

To  sleep  among  Spain's  royal  dead. 

Dead  is  her  smile,  her  beaming  gaze 

So  full  of  hope  when  darkening  days 

Hung  o  'er  the  crown  she  wore  so  well ; 

Yea,  dead  is  queenly  Isabel! 

And  where  are  now  the  crowds  that  hung 

Upon  his  steps  when  every  tongue 

Shouted  his  praise?     The  station  high 

Above  all  Spain's  plumed  chivalry? 

The  high  commands?     Away!  each  thought 

With  saddening  memory  so  deep  frought! 

Call  not  pale  flashes  from  afar 

To  mock  with  light  a  fallen  star ! 

The  past  is  dead,  the  future  read, — 

Ay!  see  a  broken,  moss-grown  stone. 

And  on  it  view  a  kingly  meed 

Of  thanks  to  genius  shown — 

Ay !  trace  o  'er  that  forgotten  grave : — 

*  Another  world  Columbus  gave 

To  Castile  and  Leon.'  "  j^      ±  j    t>       x 

—Front-de-Boeuf. 

*  *  'Tis  midnight ;  through  the  lozenge  panes 

Flashes  a  southern  storm; 

And  the  lightning  flings  its  livid  stains 

134 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

O'er  a  bowed  and  wearied  form. 

He  stands,  like  a  ship  once  stanch  and  stout 

By  billows  too  long  opprest; 

And  a  fiercer  storm  than  whirls  without 

Tears  through  his  heaving  breast. 

His  hand  is  pressed  on  his  aching  brow, 

And  veils  his  eyes '  dark  light, 

And  a  twinkling  cresset's  dim  red  glow, 

When  the  lightning  pales,  doth  sadly  flow 

0  'er  locks  where  many  a  thread  of  snow 
Tells  of  Time's  troubled  flight. 

He  stands — a  fading,  clouded  star. 

Half -hid  in  the  rack  of  heaven's  war; 

Or,  like  a  vanquished  warrior,  one 

Whose  heart  is  crushed,  whose  hopes  are  gone 

After  many  a  gallant  fight. 

He  turns  and  he  paces  the  damp  stone  floor. 
And  his  glance  seeks  the  damper  wall 
Where  the  charts,  o'er  which  he  loved  to  pore, 
Like  arras  rise  and  fall. 
There  is  his  heart's  most  cherished  store. 
There  lie  the  fruits  of  his  deepest  lore, 
And  his  lips,  as  he  views  them  o  'er, 
His  withered  life  recall : 

^And  was  it  all  a  dream? 
Is  this  the  bitter  waking? 
And  is  hope's  heavenly  beam 
For  aye  my  soul  forsaking? 

1  thought  to  see  the  cross  unfurled 

135 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Upon  the  hills  of  a  far-off  world ! 

To  bear  the  faith  of  the  Crucified 

Far  o  'er  the  wild  Atlantic 's  tide  I 

To  see  adored  the  Christian  God 

Where  Christian  foot  hath  never  trod ! 

Sure  brighter  dreams  from  heaven  ne'er  fell — 

And  I  wake  in  this  cold,  dim  cell ! 

And  were  they,  too,  but  dreams — 
Those  lands  far  in  the  West, 
Where  robed  in  sunset  beams 
The  Seven  Cities  rest? 
Far,  far  beyond  the  blue  Azores, 
I  thought  to  press  the  ocean's  shores ; 
The  heaving,  restless  main  to  span. 
And  give — and  give — a  world  to  man ! 
A  new-born  world  of  vernal  skies 
Fresh  with  the  breath  of  paradise — 
A  world  that  yet  would  place  my  name 
The  foremost  on  the  scroll  of  fame. 
And  now  I  wake,  poor,  friendless,  lone, 
Amid  these  dripping  walls  of  stone. 

And  was  it  but  a  dream 

I  left  fair  Italy? 

To  chase  the  churchyard  gleam 

Of  false  expectancy — 

That  light  which,  like  the  swamp's  pale  glare, 

Lures  but  to  darkness  and  despair? 

To  crush  the  visions  youth  built  up? 

Drink  to  its  poisoned  dregs  the  cup 

136 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

Of  hope  deferred  and  trust  misplaced? 
To  feel  heart  shrink  and  body  waste? 
And  still  like  drowning  wretch  to  cry, 
^  One  more  effort  and  I  die ! '  " 

— Front-de-Boeuf, 

' '  Chains,  my  good  lord :  in  your  raised  brows  I 

read 
Some  wonder  at  our  chamber  ornaments. 
We  brought  this  iron  from  our  isles  of  gold. 
Does  the  king  know  you  deign  to  visit  him 
Whom  once  he  rose  from  off  his  throne  to  greet 
Before  his  people,  like  a  brother  king! 

TT  ^  TP  *  tP 

Chains  for  the  Admiral  of  the  Ocean !  chains 
For  him  who  gave  a  new  heaven,  a  new  earth, 
As  holy  John  had  prophesied  of  me. 
Gave  glory  and  more  empire  to  the  kings 
Of  Spain  than  all  their  battles !  chains  for  him 
Who  pushed  his  prows  into  the  setting  sun. 
And  made  West  East,  and  sailed  the  Dragon's 

mouth. 
And  came  upon  the  Mountain  of  the  World, 
And  saw  the  rivers  roll  from  Paradise ! 

Chains !  we  are  Admirals  of  the  Ocean,  we. 
We  and  our  sons  forever.    Ferdinand 
Hath  signed  it  and  our  holy  Catholic  queen ; 
Of  the  Ocean — of  the  Indies — Admirals  we — 
Our  title,  which  we  never  mean  to  yield. 
Our  guerdon  not  alone  for  what  we  did, 

137 


Christopher  Columbus. 

But  our  amends  for  what  we  might  have  done — 
The  vast  occasion  of  our  stronger  life — 
Eighteen  long  years  of  waste,  seven    in  your 

Spain, 
Lost,  showing  courts  and  kings  a  truth  the  babe 
Will  suck  in  with  his  mother 's  milk  hereafter — 

earth 

A  sphere. 

*     *     *     #     * 

Gold?     I    had    brought    your    Princes    gold 

enough 
If  left  alone!     Being  but  a  Genoese, 
I  am  handled  worse  than  had  I  been  a  Moor, 
And  breached  the  belting  wall  of  Cambalu, 
And  given  the  Great  Khan's    palaces    to  the 

Moor, 
Or   clutch 'd   the    sacred   crown   of   Prester 

John, 
And  cast  it  to  the  Moor :  but  had  I  brought 
From  Solomon's  now-recover'd  Opliir  all 
The  gold  that  Solomon's  navies  carried  home. 
Would  that  have  gilded  mef     Blue  blood  of 

Spain, — 
Tho'    quartering    your    own    royal    arms    of 

Spain — 
I  have  not ;  blue  blood  and  black  blood  of  Spain, 
The  noble  and  the  convict  of  Castile, 
Howl'd  me  from  Hispaniola;  for  you  know 
The  flies  at  home,  that  ever  swarm  about 
And   cloud   the    highest   heads,    and    murmur 
down 

138 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

Truth  in  the  distance — these  out-buzzed  me 

so 
That   even   our   prudent   king,    our   righteous 

queen — 
I  prayed  them  being  so  calumniated 
They  would   commission   one    of   weight   and 

worth 
To  judge  between  my  slandered  self  and  me — 

Fonseca  my  main  enemy  at  their  court, 
They  sent  me  out  his  tool,  Bovadilla,  one 
As  ignorant  and  impolitic  as  a  beast — 
Blockish    irreverence,    brainless     breed — who 

sacked 
My  dwelling,  seized  upon  my  papers,  loosed 
My  captives,  freed  the  rebels  of  the  crown. 
Sold  the  crown-farms  for  all  but  nothing,  gave 

All  but  free  leave  to  work  the  mines. 
Drove    me    and   my   good   brothers    home   in 

chains. 
And  gathering  ruthless  gold — a  single  piece 
Weighed  nigh  four  thousand  Castillanos — so 
They   tell   me — ^weighed    him    down    into    the 

abyss — 

The  hurricane  of  the  latitude  on  him  fell, 
The  seas  of  our  discovering  over-rolled 
Him  and  his  gold!  the  frailer  caravel, 
With  what  was  mine,  came  happily  to  the  shore. 
There  was  the  glimmering  of  God's  hand! 


139 


Christopher  Columbus. 

And  God 
Hath  more  than  glimmered  on  me.   0  my  lord, 
I  swear  to  you  I  heard  His  voice  between 
The  thunders  in  the  black  Veraguan  nights : 
'  0  soul  of  little  faith,  slow  to  believe ! 
Have  I  not  been  about  thee  from  thy  birth? 
Given  thee  keys  of  the  great  Ocean  sea? 
Set  thee  in  light  till  Time  shall  be  no  more? 
Is  it  I  who  have  deceived  thee — or  the  world? 
Endure!  thou  hast  done  so  well  for  men,  that 

men 
Cry  out  against  thee :  was  it  otherwise 
With  Mine  own  Son?' 

And  more  than  once  in  days 
Of  doubt  and  cloud  and  storm,  when  drowning 

hope 
Sank  all  but  out  of  sight,  I  heard  His  voice : 
'Be  not  cast  down.   I  lead  thee  by  the  hand, 
Fear  not. '      And  I  shall  hear  His  voice  again — 
I  know  that  He  has  led  me  all  my  life, 
I  am  not  yet  too  old  to  work  His  will — 
His  voice  again. 

Still  for  all  that,  my  Lord, 
I  lying  here,  bed-ridden  and  alone. 
Cast  off,  put  by,  scouted  by  court  and  king — 
The  first  discoverer  starves — his  followers,  all 
Flower  into  fortunes — our  world's  way — and  I, 
Without  roof  that  I  can  call  mine  own, 
With  scarce  a  coin  to  buy  a  meal  withal, 

140 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

And  seeing  what  a  door  for  scoundrel  scum 
I  opened  to  the  West,  thro'  which  the  lust, 

Villainy,  violence,  avarice,  of  your  Spain 
Poured  in  on  all  those  happy  naked  isles — ■ 
Their  kindly  native  princes  slain  or  slaved. 

Their  wives  and  children  Spanish  concubines, 
Their  innocent  hospitalities  quenched  in  blood. 
Some    dead    of    hunger,    some    beneath    the 

scourge. 
Some  over-labored,  some  by  their  own  hands, — 
Yea,  the  dear  mothers,  crazing  Nature,  kill 
Their  babies  at  the  breast,  for  hate  of  Spain — 

Ah,  God,  the  harmless  people  whom  we  found 
In  Hispaniola's  island — paradise! 
Who  took  us  for  the  very  gods  from  heaven. 
And  we  have  sent  them  very  fiends  from  Hell ; 

And  I  myself,  myself  not  blameless,  I 
Could  sometimes  wish  I  had  never  led  the  way. 

Only  the  ghost  of  our  great  Catholic  Queen 
Smiles  on  me,  saying,  ^Be  thou  comforted! 
This  creedless  people  will  be  brought  to  Christ 
And  own  the  holy  governance  of  Rome.' 

But  who  could  dream  that  we,  who  bore  the 

Cross 
Thither  were  excommunicated  there. 
For  curbing  crimes  that  scandalized  the  Cross, 

By  him,  the  Catalonian  Minorite, 
Rome 's  Vicar  in  our  Indies  1  Who  believe 

141 


Christopher  Columbus. 

These  hard  memorials  of  our  truth  to  Spain 
Clung  closer  to  us  for  a  longer  term 
Than  any  friend  of  ours  at  Court?   and  yet 
Pardon — too  harsh,  unjust.     I  am  racked  with 
pains. 

You  see  that  I  have  hung  them  by  my  bed, 
And  I  will  have  them  buried  in  my  grave. 
Sir,  in  that  flight  of  ages  which  are  God's 
Own  voice  to  justify  the  dead — perchance 
Spain,  once  the  most  chivalric  race  on  earth, 
Spain  the  mightiest,  wealthiest  realm  on  earth, 
So  made  by  me — may  seek  to  unbury  me. 
To  lay  me  in  some  shrine  of  this  old  Spain, 
Or  in  that  vaster  Spain  I  leave  to  Spain. 
Then  some  one  standing  by  my  grave  will  say, 
*  Behold  the  bones  of  Christopher  Colon' — 
*Ay,  but  the  chains,  what  do  they  mean — the 
chains  ? ' — 

I  sorrow  for  that  kindly  child  of  Spain 

Who  then  will  have  to  answer,  ^  These  same 

chains 
Bound  these  same  bones  thro'  the  Atlantic  sea, 
Which  he  unchained  for  all  the  world  to  come. ' 

0  Queen  of  Heaven  who  seest  the  souls  in  Hell 
And  purgatory,  I  suffer  all  as  much 
As  they  do — for  the  moment.     Stay,  my  son' 
Is  here  anon  :  my  son  will  speak  for  me 
Abler  than  I  can  in  these  spasms  that  grind 

142 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

Bone  against  bone.    You  will  not.     One  last 
word. 
You  move  about  the  Court,  I  pray  you  tell 
King  Ferdinand  who  plays  with  me,  that  one, 
Whole  life  has  been  no  play  with  him  and  his 
Hidalgos — shipwrecks,  fevers,  famines,  fights. 
Mutinies,    treacheries — winked    at    and    con- 
doned— 
That  I  am  loyal  to  him  till  the  death, 
And  ready — tho'  our  Holy  Catholic  Queen, 
Who  fain  had  pledged  her  jewels  on  my  first 
voyage. 
Whose  hope  was  mine  to  spread  the  Catholic 
faith. 
Who  wept  with  me  when  I  returned  in  chains. 
Who  sits  beside  the  Blessed  Virgin  now. 
To  whom  I  send  my  prayer  by  night  and  day — 
She  is  gone — but  you  will  tell  the  king,  that  I, 
Backed  as  I  am  with  gout,  with  pains 
Gained  in  the  service  of  His  Highness,  yet 
Am  ready  to  sail  forth  on  one  last  voyage. 
And  readier,  if  the  king  would  hear,  to  lead 

One  last  Crusade  against  the  Saracen, 
And  save  the  Holy  Sepulchre  from  thrall. 

Going  ?     I   am   old    and   slighted  :   you   have 

dared 
Somewhat     perhaps    in    coming  ?     My     poor 

thanks  ! 
I  am  but  an  alien  and  a  Genoese. ' ' 

— Alfred  Tennyson. 
143 


Cheistopheb  Columbus. 

Columbus  : 

^  ^  Diego,  pain  in  this  old  body,  pain 
In  this  old  heart  :    I  feel  the  shadow,  boy. 
Stayed  by  the  thought  your  uncle  would  bring 
back 
A  message  such  as  once  became  a  queen, 
The  promised  restitution  of  my  honors 
If  not  of  my  estates, — assurance,  son. 
Virtue    yet    holds    her    high    place    in    the 
earth  ; — 
Stayed  by  this  thought,   I   say,   I   would   not 
yield 
To  fierce  disease,  mine  old-time  enemy. 
But  did  defy  him  hourly,  yet  once  more 
Did  vow  to  serve  my  country  and  my  God. 

'Tis  vain  ;  I  wait  not  for  my  brother  now, 
But  abide  my  hour,  here,  at  the  charitable  inn. 

There  is  that  I  must  speak  before  I  go. 
For  in  the  last  lift  of  the  flame  of  life 
My  labors  front  me,  standing  plainly  forth  : 
I  have  outlived  my  time,  outliving  her 
I  served.     The  royal  pledge — what  is  it  now  ? 
The  lofty  word  of  kings  differs  no  whit 
From  breath  of  common  men.    I  am  forgot. 
Ay,  after  years  two-score  of  soldier's  toil 
In  thick  of  dangers  such  as  few  men  face. 
Forgot,  forgot. '* 
Diego  : 

**Good  father,  be  at  peace. 

144 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

Let  us  not  talk  of  it.    Your  wisdom,  worth, 
Your  loyal  life,  believe,  'tis  all  writ  here. 
So  charactered  no  little  word  shall  fade.'' 

Columbus : 

*^And  one  of  all  the  world  will  think  on  me 
As  I  have  been,  untaught  of  monarchs  what 
His  father  was  !     My  son,  I  love  you  well  ; 
Now^  let  the  will  that  has  been  first  so  long 
Be  leader  still.     Good  boy,  I  must  say  on. 
Diego,  know  even  in  my  foolish  youth 
I  had  what  of  the  earth  and  chary  stars 
Pavia  knew. 

Ay,  there  be  more  than  tongues  of  land 

and  sea, 
More  than  the  noblest  utterances  of  man. 
A  light  gleamed,  once,  upon  a  distant  shore, 
A  light  struck  from  the  deep,  the  solemn  dark  ; 
'Twas  then  first  spake  the  voice  from  out  the 

vast : — 
^Blessed,  blessed  is  he  that  brings  the  light 
To  them  that  knew  it  not.' 

Again,  'mid  winds 
That  made  the  sea  a  plaything,  that  did  twist 
The  rock  in  his  strong  place,  I  heard  it  : — 

^  Peace! 
Comfort  thy  sailor's  soul.    What  did  He  more 
For  Moses,  for  His  servant  David?    Lo, 
Thou  dost  possess  the  gateway  of  the  seas.' 


145 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Eemember  this  :  despite  the  press  of  toil, 
Your  father  fasted,  prayed,  slighted  no  rite 
Men  leave  to  quiet  of  the  pious  cell. 
As  he,  that  fierce  old  sailor  of  our  blood 
Who  loved  the  sea  and  put  him  in  her  care 
To  sail  against  the  infidel,  and  spread 
Abroad  our  holy  faith, — so  have  I  served  ; 
Yet  better,  since  with  firm  and  reverent  rule, 
Mindful  always  of  Him. 

Therefore  have  signs  been  set  for  me,  for 

me 
As  for  the  holy  men  of  old.     The  last — 
Of  that  no  ear  has   heard.    You   were    scarce 

gone 
When  suddenly  my  pain  did  cease,  and  straight 
The  old  voice  said, — 

*  Thou  thinkest  to  have  found 
A  western  ocean  way  far  as  to  Ind  ; 
Through  yonder  spaces  mark  what  thou  dost 

see.' 

My  eyes  grew  fast  upon  the  great  new  scene. 
The  gleaming  land  and  them  that  walked  there- 
in. 
So  bright  and  sure  this  people  stood,  I  cried, — 
*  Oh,  that  I  might  increase  my  day,  my  hour. 
My  little  hour,  unto  the  summertide 
Of    God^s    long   purpose  ;    when    His   patient 

thought. 
Run  on  to  ripeness,  shall  have  wrought  the  man 
Well  out — the  blossom  of  the  prophecies, 

146 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

The  bloom  and  coronation  of  my  kind!' 
*Hail,  masters,  masters  of  the  world!'  I  cried, 
And  all  the  pain  and  want  here  in  the  inn, 
Cannot  plot  out  that  service. 

I  have  helped 
To  weld  the  wide  ends  of  the  earth,  to  bind 
Her  scattered  lands  and  peoples  in  the  bond 
Of  our  most  holy  church.     And,  lastly,  now 
Have  I  made  you  mine  heir,  enjoining  on  you 
The  disposition  of  my  revenues — 
(For  I  abate  no  jot  my  princely  claim) ; 
Have  charged  you  to  build  altars,  and  to  seek, 
As  faith  should  seek  it,  up  and  down  the  seas. 
The  rescue  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  ; 
And  bade  you  aid  all  them  that  are  our  kin, 
And  to  a  farthing  to  discharge  my  debts  : 
So  shall  I  not  fall  dumb,  but  answer  on. 
To  worst  the  cavil  of  a  thankless  world. 

Boy,  I  have  said  ;   'tis  for  your  filial  heart. 
My  pains  come  harder.     Close,  bend  closer — so, 
The  while  I  fix  my  fading  thought  on  Him. 
My   sense   begins   to    shut.     The   brave   light 

fades. 
Fades.     Farewell,     my    son  ;    farewell,    good 
earth  ; 
Farewell,  all,  all.     Father,  into  Thy  hand 
I  yield  my  soul.    Now,  with  a  sailor's  trust, 
For  the  last  voyage.    Stand  to  sea — to  sea." 

— John  Vance  Cheney, 
147 


Christopher  Columbus. 

**A  battered,  wrecked  old  man, 

Thrown  on  this  savage  shore,    far,  far,  from 

home, 

Pent  by  the  sea  and  dark  rebellious  brows 

My  terminus  near. 

The  clouds  already  closing  in  upon  me, 

The  voyage  balked,  the  course  disputed,  lost, 

I  yield  my  ships  to  Thee 

Is  it  the  Prophet's  thought  I  speak,  or  am  I 

raving  ? 
What  do  I  know  of  life  ?     What  of  myself  1 
I  know  not  even  my  own  work  past  or  present. 
Dim  ever-shifting  guesses  of  it  spread  before 

me. 
Of   newer,   better   worlds,   their   mighty  par- 
turition 

Mocking,  perplexing  me 

And  these  things  I  see  suddenly,    what  mean 

they  ?— 
As  if  some  miracle,  same  hand  divine,  unseal'd 

my  eyes  ; 
Shadowy,  vast  shapes  smile  through  the  air 

and  sky. 
And  on  the  distant  waves  sail  countless  ships. 
And  anthems  in  new  tongues  I   hear   saluting 

— Walt  Whitman. 

**One  effort  more,  my  altar  this  bleak  sand  ; 
That  Thou,  O  God,  my  life  hast  lighted 
With  ray  of  light,  steady,  ineffable,  vouched  of 
Thee,— 

148 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

Light  rare,  untellable,  lighting  the  very  light 
Beyond  all  signs,  descriptions,  languages; 
For  that,  0  God,  be  it  my  latest  word,  here  on 

my  knees. 
Old,  poor,  paralyzed,  I  thank  Thee. 

My  terminus  near, 

The  clouds  already  closing  in  upon  me. 
The  voyage  balked,  the  course  disputed,  lost, 
I  yield  my  ships  to  Thee.-_-^^^^  Whitman. 

*^Not    yet — not    all — last    night    a    dream — 

I  sailed 
On  my  j&rst  voyage,  harassed  by  the  frights 
Of  my  first  crew,  their  curses  and  their  groans. 
The  great  flame-banner  borne  by  Teneriffe, 
The  compass,  like  an  old  friend  false  at  last 
In  our  most  need,  appalPd  them,  and  the  wind 
Still  westward,  and  the  weedy  seas — at  length 
The  landbird,  and  the  branch  with  berries  on  it, 
The  carven  staff — and  last  the  light,  the  light 
On  Guanahani  !  but  I  changed  the  name  ; 
San  Salvador  I  called  it;   and  the  light 
Grew  as  I  gazed,  and  brought  out  a  broad  sky 
Of  dawning  over — not  those  alien  palms. 
The  marvel  of  that  fair  new  nature — not 
That  Indian  isle,  but  our  most  ancient  East, 
Moriah  with  Jerusalem  ;    and  I  saw 
The  glory  of  the  Lord  flash  up,  and  beat 
Thro'  all  the  homely  town  from  jasper,  sap- 
phire, 

149 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Chalcedony,  emerald,  sardon^rx,  sardius, 
Chrysolite,  beryl,  topaz,  chrysoprase. 
Jacinth  and  amethyst — and  those  twelve  gates, 
Pearl — and    I    woke,    and    thought — death — I 

shall  die — 
I  am  written  in  the  Lamb's  own  Book  of  Life 
To  walk  within  the  glory  of  the  Lord 
Sunless  and  moonless,  utter  light — but  no  !'' 

— Alfred  Tennyson, 

*  *  Hark !  do  I  hear  again  the  roar 

Of  the  tides  by  the  Indies  sweeping  down  ? 

Or  is  it  the  surge  from  the  viewless  shore 

That  swells  to  bear  me  to  my  crown  ? 

Life  is  hollow  and  cold  and  drear 

With  smiles  that  darken  and  hopes  that  flee  ; 

And,  far  from  its  winds  that  faint  and  veer, 

I  am  ready  to  sail  the  vaster  sea  ! 

Lord,  Thou  knowest  I  love  Thee  best  ; 
And  that  scorning  peril  and  toil  and  pain, 
I  held  my  way  to  the  mystic  West, 
Glory  for  Thee  and  Thy  church  to  gain. 
And  Thou  didst  lead  me,  only  Thou, 
Cheering  my  heart  in  cloud  and  calm. 
Till  the  dawn  my  glad,  victorious  prow 
Greeted  Thine  isles  of  bloom  and  balm. 

And  then,  0  gracious,  glorious  Lord, 
I  saw  Thy  face,  and  all  heaven  came  nigh 
And  my  soul  was  lost  in  that  rich  reward, 

150 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

And  ravished  with  hope  of  the  bliss  on  high ; 
So,  I  can  meet  the  sovereign's  frown — 
My  dear  Queen  gone — with  a  large  disdain, 
For  the  time  will  come  when  his  chief  renown 
Will  be  that  I  sailed  from  his  realm  of  Spain. 

I  have  found  new  Lands — a  World  maybe. 
Whose  splendor  will  yet  the  Old  outshine  ; 
And  life  and  death  are  alike  to  me, 
For  earth  will  honor,  and  heaven  is  mine. 
Is  mine ! — What  songs  of  sweet  accord ! 
What  billows  that  nearer,  gentler  roll  ! 
Is  mine  ! — Into  Thy  hands,  0  Lord, 
Into  Thy  hands  I  give  my  soul  !'' 

— Edna  Bean  Proctor, 

**Hush  !  o'er  that  bed  of  death. 
Swayed  by  the  failing  breath, 
A  clank  of  chains  ! 
*  Peace  to  the  noble  dead' — 
With  tears,  by  men  is  said  ; 
While  angels  sigh, '  God  reigns ! '  " 

— Eliza  Allen  Starr, 

^^Cold-hearted  Ferdinand  his  pillow  prest. 
Nor  dreamed  of  those  his  mandates  robbed  of 

rest, 
Of  him  who  gemmed  his  crown,  who   stretched 

his  reign 
To  realms  that  weighed  the  tenfold  poise  of 

^P^^^-''  —JoelMarlow, 

151 


Christopher  Columbus. 

**And  the  king  forgot  what  the  fair  good  queen 

With  her  dying  lips  had  said  ; 

And  he  who  had  given  a  world  to  Spain 

Had  never  a  roof  for  himself  again, 

And  he  wished  that  he,  too,  were  dead. 

Slow  tolled  the  bells  of  old  Seville  town 
At  the  noon  of  a  summer  ^s  day  ; 
For  up  in  the  chamber  of  yonder  inn, 
Close  by  the  street  with  its  noise  and  din, 
The  heart  of  the  New  World  lay. 

Perhaps  the  king  on  his  throne  close  by 
No  thought  of  the  tolling  gave  ; 
But  over  a  world,  far  up  and  down, 
They  heard  the  bells  of  Seville  town, 
And  they  stood  by  an  open  grave. 

And  the  Seville  bells  they  are  ringing  still 
Through  the  centuries  far  and  dim  ; 
And  though  it  is  but  the  common  lot   ■ 
Of  men  to  die,  and  be  forgot, 
They  will  ring  forever  for  him. ' ' 

—S.  H.  M.  Byers. 

**But  thou,   Christ-Bringer  to  the  new  half- 
world, 
Christ-Bearer  too,  didst,  with  the  Christ,  his 

Cross 
Thy  portion  find.     Thy  glory's  earthly  gloss 
Scarce  lasted  till  the  home-bound  sails  were 
furled. 

162 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

Ingratitude  and  envy  swiftly  hurled 

Their  torches  at  thy  fame.    But  was  it  loss 

They  wrought  thee?    Nay,  a  merit  purged  of 

dross. 
For  this  their  lurid  flames  so  fiercely  curled. 
And  when  had  passed  the  years  that  seemed  so 

long, 
And  came  our  Lady  with  a  call  to  rest, 
She  led  thy  spirit  through  the  sainted  throng 
To  where  her  Son  reigns  Monarch  of  the  Blest  ; 
And  He  bestowed,  in  meed  of  suffered  wrong, 
A  richer  realm  than  thy  discovered  West.'' 

— Benjamin  D.  Hill,  C.  P. 

**He  failed.    He  reached  to  grasp  Hesperides, 
To  track  the  foot  course  of  the  sun,  that  flies 
Toward  some  far-western  couch,  and  watch  its 

rise, — 
But  fell  on  unknown  sand-reefs,  chains,  dis- 
ease. 

He    won.    With    splendid    daring,    from    the 

sea's 
Hard,  niggard  fist  he  plucked    the    glittering 

prize. 
And  gave  a  virgin  world  to  Europe's  eyes, 
Where  gold-dust  choked  the  streams,  and  spice 

the  breeze. 

He  failed  fulfillment  of  the  task  he  planned. 
And  dropped  a  weary  head  on  empty  hand, 

153 


Christopher  Columbus. 

Unconscious  of  the  vaster  deed  he'd  done; 
But  royal  legacy  to  Ferdinand 
He  left  :  a  key  to  doorways  gilt  with  sun, — 
And  proudest  title  of  *  World-father'  won!'' 
— George  Washington  Wright  Houghton, 

THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW  IN  HISTORY 

(The  Old.) 
* '  Plead  not  in  vain  the  archives  long  concealed, 
When  men  were  gods,  and  heroes  lived  whose 

birth 
Made  land  and  sea  and  sky  all  common  earth, 
While  Homer  sang  and  oracles  revealed  : 
The  rust  of  ages  scars  the  ancient  shield, 
And    dusty    bannered-halls     have    lost    their 

mirth — 
The  battle-ax  and  barbed  spear  their  worth 
In  deadly  combat  on  the  tented  field  ; 

Those  fabled  days  so  vaguely  seen  are  gone, 
Though  battered  walls  and  crumbling    towers 

may  sigh 
And  dream  of  chivalry  :   yet  comes  the  dawn 
Of  centuries  which  myth  and  mould  defy. 
Whose  rays  of  promise,  brighter  than  the  sun, 
Spread  far  and  near  when  brave    Columbus 

won. 

(The  New.) 
The  nations  marching  from  the  mystic  past, 
Or  through  the  dark  uncertainty  and  gloom 
Of  fated  epochs  bearing  on  their  doom, 

154 


Ignominy  and  Death. 

Behold  afar — too  far  for  hope  to  last, 
Or  feudal  thrones  to  bind  a  people  fast  — 
A  world  of  beauty  and  of  sweet  perfume, 
A  land  of  golden  hues  and  vernal  bloom. 
Spanned  only  by  the  arc  of  heaven  so  vast  : 

No  worm-gnawed  parchments  need  proclaim 
the  rights, 

Where  simple  worth,  spurred  by  the  pulse  of 
youth, 

Inspires  a  nation  and  restores  to  sight 

The  long-lost  palms  of  Liberty  and  Truth. 

Proud  Kealm  of  western  grandeur  and  re- 
nown ! 

Thou  seekest  only  good  the  New  to  crown.  * ' 

— W.  J.  CrandalL 


155 


Stutiie  of  Columbus  at  Santo  Domingo,  Dominican  Republic 


There  is  now  on  foot  a  movement  to  erect  another  monument  in  this  Republic  to  the  immortal  discoverer  near 
the  spot  where  he  made  his  home  and  left  so  many  permanent  records  of  himself.  William  E.  Pulliam. 
for  a  number  of  years  receiver  general  of  customs  in  the  Dominican  Republic,  is  leading  the  movement  to 
raise  a  fund  of  $500,000  by  contributions  from  all  the  American  Republics  with  which  to  build  a  suitable 
monument  in  the  form  of  a  powerful  beacon,  to  be  known  as  the  Columbus  Light." 

From  the  Pan-American  Bulletin. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


POSTHUMOUS  GLORY: 
THROUGHOUT  THE  WORLD. 

The  Bibliotek  Colnmbina  at  Seville,  founded 
by  the  liberal  donations  of  thousands  of 
volumes,  by  Columbus  *s  son  Ferdinand,  is  a 
literary  monument  to  his  memory.  Collected 
there  are  his  letters  and  writings  and  many  of 
the  valuable  manuscripts  pertaining  to  his  life 
and  works. 

His  tomb  in  the  cathedral  of  Santo  Domingo 
where  his  remains  repose  is  worthy  of  him,  as 
is  the  following  poem  worthy  to  be  his  epitaph : 

^^Here,  'mid  these  paradises  of  the  seas. 
The  roof  beneath  of  this  cathedral  old. 
That  lifts  its  suppliant  arms  above  the  trees, 
Each  clasping  in  its  hand  a  cross  of  gold, 
Columbus  sleeps — his  crumbling  tomb  behold ! 
By  faith  his  soul  rose  eagle-winged  and  free, 
And  reached  that  Power  whose  wisdom  never 

fails. 
Walked  'mid  the  kindred  stars,  and  reverently 
The  light  earth  weighed  in  God's  own   golden 

scales. 
A  man  of  passions  like  to  men's  was  he. 

157 


Christopher  Columbus. 

He  overcame  them,  and  with  hope  and  trust 
Made  strong  his  soul  for  highest  destiny, 
And  following  Christ,  he  walked  upon  the  sea  ; 
The  waves  upheld  him — ^what  is  here  is  dust. ' ' 
— Hezehiah  Butterworth. 

The  monuments  erected  to  his  honor  are  well- 
nigh  innumerable.  What  though  his  name  has 
not  been  given  to  this  new  land  which  he  dis- 
covered,— collectively, — ^we  figuratively  speak 
of  our  part  of  it  as  **  Columbia — the  Gem  of 
the  Ocean ;^'  and  the  district  set  aside  to  con- 
tain our  national  capital  is  named  for  him. 

In  that  capital  is  his  monument,  glorious  in 
its  splendor,  and  placed  through  the  initiative 
of  the  Knights  who  bear  his  name  ;  and  the 
bronze  doors  of  the  Capitol  building  portray 
scenes  from  his  life,  while  his  statue  is  placed 
in  the  portico.  Geographically  also  is  he  hon- 
ored— by  England,  in  her  British  Columbia  ; 
in  South  America  by  Colombia,  which  possesses 
a  monument  presented  by  the  Empress  Eu- 
genie; and  the  erstwhile  small  town  Colon  is 
now  famous  as  being  at  the  end  of  the  Panama 
Canal,  *^the  new  way  to  India." 

Other  cities  bear  his  name — Columbus,  Ohio  ; 
Columbus,  Georgia  ;  Columbus,  Kentucky  ; 
Columbus  City,  Iowa;  while  counties,  rivers, 
colleges,  museums,  asteroids  commemorate  it. 
Every  spot  upon  which  he  touched  in  this  New 
World  he  marked  with  a  Cross — 

158 


The  Maprnillceiit  Mausoleum  of  Marble  and  Bron/e  erected  in  tlie  Cathedral  at 

Santo  DominRo  to  contain  the  ashes  of  the  Tllnstrious 

Discoverer  of  America 


Posthumous  Glory. 

**01i  !  gladly  I  went  forth, 

Toil-worn  and  tired,  yet  joyous  even  then 

To  bear  to  realms  nnfound  the  name  of  Christ, 

And  set  His  cross  there,  sign  of  life  in  death. 

So  where  the  first  mark  of  the  New  World 

shone, 
A  twinkling  light  upon  a  shore  unseen. 
We  raised  the  Cross — there  on  San  Salvador 
And  all  along  Cipango  and  Cathay 
And  fertile  Ornof ay  we  showed  the  cross ; 
Then  later  by  that  three-hilled  isle  that  rose 
From  out  the  waves,  type  of  the  Trinity  ; 
And  on  Paria,  called  the  coast  of  pearls, 
Where  the  sweet  stream  from  Eden^s  Tree  of 

Life 
Flowed    down    and    mingled    with   the    bitter 

°      *  — George  Parsons  Lathrop. 

— and  now  practically  every  spot  upon  which  he 
touched  in  life  is  marked  by  a  monument  to  his 
honor.  His  first  landing  place  which  he  named 
San  Salvador  has  been  identified  as  Watling's 
Island,  and  its  memorial  has  been  placed  by 
the  Chicago  Herald. 

The  Eepublic  of  Honduras  marks  the  spot 
where  he  first  touched  land  in  Central  America, 
— Honduras,  the  Veragua  whence  his  posterity 
derive  their  title,  for  his  lineal  descendants  are 
so  named — Dukes  of  Veragua. 

In  Argentina,  Peru,  Mexico  are  there  monu- 
ments. 

159 


Christopher  Columbus. 

The  old  world  also  marks  his  footsteps  at 
Barcelona,  where  he  came  on  his  first  return 
to  present  his  trophies  to  the  sovereigns  ;  at 
Madrid,  in  the  Museum,  is  the  New  World  rep- 
resented by  all  manner  of  trophies  and  spec- 
imens and  pictures,  one  room  being  called  the 
Discoverer  ^s  room,  while,  as  early  as  1517,  the 
Portuguese  honored  him  by  naming  the  capital 
of  Ceylon — one  of  the  Indies  which  he  never 
reached — Colombo;  which  name  it  retains  to 
this  day. 

What  shall  we  say  of  the  artists  who  por- 
tray his  life!  What  more  inspiring  theme  could 
they  choose?  B}^  them  we  have  every  phase 
of  it  represented. 

But  high  above  all  paintings ;  all  monuments 
and  buildings  of  stone  or  marble;  high  above 
the  strains  of  operas  and  of  dramas  and  poems 
of  all  the  great  thinkers;  high  above  the  influ- 
ence of  the  books  written,  either  to  laud  him 
or  to  contemn  him;  high  above  all  such  mate- 
rial manifestations,  is  the  great  tribute  of  honor 
paid  the  memory  of  Columbus  by  the  thousands 
of  noble,  clean-souled  men  who  have  chosen  him 
as  their  model — for  the  ^^  highest  form  of  flat- 
tery is  imitation ; ' '  and  surely  have  the  Knights 
of  Columbus  shown  sincere  appreciation  of  the 
zeal  of  their  protonym. 

The  knights  of  old  sallied  forth  to  redress 
wrong,  to  defend  the  helpless  and  to  suc- 
cor the  oppressed.     Glorious  indeed  was  their 

160 


Oolumlnis  Monument  at  Watling's  Island  (San  Salvador) 


Posthumous  Glory. 

advent  and  magnificent  their  accoutrements: 
helmet  and  charger  and  shield  of  spotless  white. 
Put  what  are  the  habiliments  of  these  Knights 
who  still  hold  aloft  the  banner  of  Faith  which 
he,  Columbus,  their  great  Admiral,  came  to 
plant?  They  are  the  guardians  of  the  sacred 
Light — as  in  days  of  old  were  the  Vestal  Vir- 
gins guardians  of  the  sacred  fire,  lest  the 
hearthstones  be  without  heat. 

In  this  way  are  the  Knights  of  Columbus  ca- 
parisoned : 

#  *  *  *^  loins  girth  about  with  truth,  and  hav- 
ing on  the  breastplate  of  justice. 

And  *  *  *  feet  shod  with  the  preparation  of 
the  gospel  of  peace: 

In  all  things  taking  the  shield  of  faith  *  *  * 
and  the  helmet  of  salvation  and  the  sword  of 
the  spirit  (which  is  the  word  of  God).^' 

—St.  Paul. 

Their  order — a  fraternal,  benevolent,  social, 
intellectual,  and  spiritual  one — was  founded  in 
New  Haven,  Connecticut,  February  2,  1882,  and 
incorporated  in  the  same  year,  the  organizers 
and  incorporators  being  the  Keverend  M.  J. 
McGivney,  the  Eeverend  P.  P.  Lawler  and  eight 
prominent  Catholic  laymen. 

Its  purpose  is  not  for  the  advancement  of 
the  members  themselves  only,  but  like  the 
Christ-Bearer,  Columbus — it  strives  to  bring 
Him  to  those  who  know  Him  not,  and  for  this 

161 


Christopher  Columbus. 

end  has  established  Catholic  libraries,  lecture 
systems  and  scholarships. 

The  Knights'  efforts  to  have  their  hero 
honored  have  given  rise  to  Columbus  Day,  a 
legal  holiday  in  many  states.  Well  may  each 
Knight  say,  as  his  great  leader  might  have 
said: 

*^And  for  success,  I  ask  no  more  than  this: 
To  bear  unflinching  witness  to  the  truth. 
All  true  whole  men  succeed ;  for  what  is  worth 
Success'  name,  unless  it  be  the  thought. 
The  inward  surety,  to  have  carried  out 
A  noble  purpose  to  a  noble  end. ' ' 

— James  Russell  Lowell, 

THE  CHRIST-BEARER. 

^  ^  This  was  a  man  of  all  men  else  apart. 
Yet  so  attempered  in  his  cosmic  inind 
That  he  was  more  than  brother  to  his  kind 
Whether  of  land  or  sea,  of  court  or  mart. 
For  he  hath  touched  the  universal  heart, 
He  hath  poured  light  upon  the  utter  blind 
And  at  his  word  bade  new  worlds  unconfined 
Into  the  wondering  ken  of  nations  start. 
Fearless  he  followed  westward  his  own  star 
Until  he  saw  the  shining  Hebrides 
Unto  his   'raptured  vision  all  unroll; 
Yet  hath  he  won  a  triumph  greater  far — 
Whether  in  kingly  court  or  raging  seas — 
He  deep  explored  and  conquered  his  own  soul. 

162 


statue  of  Columbus  at  liima,  Peru 


Posthumous  Glory. 

Of  sucli  a  mould  was  Socrates,  the  Greek, 
Daring  the  iinknown  seas  of  human  thought; 
In  such  a  mood  keen  Aristotle  wrought, 
Heeding   the   voice   that   bade   him   *Seek,    0 

seek ! ' 
In  kindred  tones  we  hear  the  Eoman  speak 
Who  hurled  the  wiles  of  Cataline  to  naught : 
All  noble  souls  unterrified,  unbought. 
Gather  in  homage  at  his  vessel's  peak. 
Nor  doth  he  voice  to  them  an  unknown  tongue, 
For  great  deeds  speak  wherever  man  is  great. 
And  giants  know  their  brother  giants'  crest: 
Wherever  hearts  are  bold  or  songs  are  sung 
The  sons  of  Genius  on  the  Sailor  wait. 
And  hail  him  prophet  of  the  mighty  West. 

Yea,  he  is  master  of  earth's  ancient  kings, 
Eich-laden  with  the  trophies  of  old  Time, 
For  they  are  not  untainted  by  the  slime 
Of  base  ambitions  from  polluted  springs; 
While  he,  new  herald  of  the  dawn-break,  flings 
A  flood  of  sunlight  on  the  dust  and  grime 
Of  buried  centuries :  mists  of  age  and  clime 
Fly  fast  before  him  on  the  morning's  wings. 
Nor  doth  he  bear  his  glory  in  the  boast 
Of  finder  of  the  undiscovered  lands 
And  bridger  of  the  hidden  ocean's  span: 
For  unto  every  race  and  every  coast 
He  comes,  the  true  Christ-bearer — in  his  hands 
The  freedom  and  the  brotherhood  of  man ! ' ' 

— John  Jerome  Rooney. 

163 


Christopher  Columbus. 

**How  sad  it  seems  that  he  should  pass  from 

earth, 
Unknowing  that  his  deed,  so  grandly  wrought. 
Had  not  to  India's  wealth  new  passage  gained 
But,  better  far,  new  lands  had  brought  to  view. 
And  crowned  him  great  Discoverer  of  the  age. 
Then,  too,  methinks  this  Western  Continent, 
Which  fills  such  goodly  portion  of  earth's  space. 
Should  wear  the  name  its  famed  discoverer 

bore. 
And  as  Columbia,  now  the  nations  greet. ' ' 

*^What  matter  if  ye  now  by  other  names 
Have  called  these  lands ;  or  if  my  name  be  swept 
Far  from  the  verge  and  drowned   in  rumor 

false? 
The  Cross  I  planted  there — the  Cross  remains ! 

I,  for  my  part,  disdain  at  last  received; 
Sent  home  in  chains,  dishonored,  outcast,  poor. 
Sweet  poverty  then,  who  first  to  this  great  work 
Had  consecrated  me,  gave  me  her  crown 
Of  lowly  blessing  at  the  hour  of  death. 

Yet,  lost  in  grief,  *  0  Heaven,  pity  me ! ' 
I  cried.    ^I,  w^ho  have  wept  for  others  long — 
Weep,  Earth,  for  me !    All  ye  who  justice  love 
And  truth — for  me,  Columbus — weep  and  pray ! ' 

But  on  my  sorrow  sudden  radiance  burst. 
The  broken  chain,  hung  on  my  death-room's 

wall. 
Was  token  of  earth's  bondman  now  set  free. 

164 


(yolinnlms  Moniitneiit  and  Fountain,  Washington,  I).  (\ 


Posthumous  Glory. 

And  lo!  I  saw  that  I  who  bore  the  Christ 
Unto  the  New  World's  border — I,  the  same — 
God  in  His  mercy  granted  me  to  bear 
His  Holy  Cross  of  grief  through  all  my  life. 

Ye  who  inherit  the  New  World  I  found, 
With  riches  yet  untold  to  touch  or  sight, 
Beware  lest  poverty  of  soul  should  blast 
Your  earthly  splendor.     This  New  World  is 

yours ; 
Yet  dream  not  it  is  all.    Still  speak  the  clouds, 
Though  dimly,  of  the  future  and  the  past. 
Still  shine  the  stars  with  unforgetting  gleam; 
And  God  remembers.  Yours  is  this  New  World ; 
But  the  great  world  of  Faith  all  still  must  seek 
With  trustful  sail  borne  by  a  dauntless  mast 
Like  mine.    Nor  wreck  nor  shoal,  nor  hate  nor 

fear, 
Nor  foul  ingratitude,  shall  stay  your  course; 
Nor  chains  unjust.     Sail  bravely  forth,   and 

find 
The  New  World  here  of  Christ 's  truth  realized ! 

So  I,  Columbus,  the  gray  Admiral,  speak 
From  out  the  furrows  of  unmeasured  seas 
That  spread  a  seeming  waste  'twixt  you  and 

God. 
For  still  I  voyage  on,  with  perfect  hope, 
To  that  pure  world  of  heaven,  forever  new. 
Where    Time    reigns    not,    but    God    forever 
reigns." 

— George  Parsons  Lathrop. 
165 


Columbus  Monument  and  Fountain  (Detail), 
Washington,  D.  C. 


I.nrado  Taft 


LOURDES 

AND  THE 

EUCHARISTIC  CONGRESS 


LOURDES  AND  THE 
EUCHARISTIC  CONGRESS 


EN  ROUTE. 

Although  having  undertaken  the  ocean  voy- 
age for  recuperation  and  rest  only,  and  having 
foresworn  all  sight-seeing  and  even  the  mention 
of  Baedeker  and  notebook,  still  the  blessed 
opportunity  of  visiting  Lourdes  during  the 
Eucharistic  Congress  was  not  to  be  neglected. 

Fifteen  days  of  sky  and  water,  interspersed 
by  stops  and  visits  at  the  interesting  Azores,  at 
Lisbon,  and  around  Gibraltar  to  Barcelona, 
attuned  the  spirit  for  the  momentous  event. 

We  had  been  at  the  great  shrine  of  Our  Lady 
of  the  Indians,  in  their  village  outside  Mexico 
City,  at  Guadalupe,  where  she  appeared  to  a 
native  and  left  her  image  impressed  miracu- 
lously upon  his  blanket — seen  and  venerated  to 
this  day;  we  had  visited  St.  Anne  de  Beaupre, 
where  the  mementoes  of  the  favors  obtained 
through  the  intercession  of  the  good  saint  are 
piled  mountain  high ;  had  visited  the  shrines  of 
the  Apostles  at  Rome  and  had  knelt  at  the  feet 
of  the  successor  of  their  Prince, — the  late  re- 
vered Sovereign  Pontiff,  Pope  Pius  X;  had 
witnessed  the  inspiring  representation  of  the 
Passion  of  Our  Lord  at  Oberammergau — but 

169 


LOURDES. 

second  to  none  of  these  events  was  the  meet- 
ing of  the  Eucharistic  Congress  at  Lourdes. 

Knowing  the  story  of  the  Grotto,  and  upon 
innumerable  occasions  reading  of  the  wonderful 
miracles  which  transpired  there,  it  was  quite 
astonishing  to  ourselves  how  vague  w^as  our 
knowledge  of  the  town  itself. 

Non-Catholics  feel  a  great  interest  in  the 
place  owing  to  the  unmentionable  Zola's  book, 
and  it  is  consoling  to  learn  that  many  of  them 
are  fair-minded  enough  to  appreciate  the  beauty 
of  the  setting  of  the  tale,  and  to  recognize  and 
to  spurn  the  slime  of  the  author's  own  person- 
ality. 

Have  not  read  Zola's  Lourdes,  nor  the  very 
excellent  work  by  Henry  Lasserre,  nor  even  the 
one  by  Monsignor  Benson;  in  fact,  have  read 
nothing  intensive  upon  the  subject,  not  even 
Baedeker  nor  other  guide  books.  When  the 
opportunity  presents  itself  to  do  so,  a  vast  fund 
of  information  will  doubtless  be  acquired,  and 
it  will  be  astonishing  to  learn  how  much  has 
been  written  upon  the  subject — so  much  that 
any  more  may  prove  a  superfluity — but  no 
writer,  heretofore,  has  had  an  opportunity  of 
witnessing  there  a  meeting  of  the  Eucharistic 
Congress. 

So  to  those  who  have  not  had  that  opportu- 
nity, the  simple  story  of  the  event  as  it  appeared 
to  one  without  statistics  may  not  be  devoid  of 
interest. 

170 


The  Eucharistic  Congress. 

First,  how  to  get  there.  Many  tourists  go 
by  way  of  Paris,  as  there  is  no  change  of  cars, 
but  as  our  route  was  by  way  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, and  as  we  could  stop  at  Barcelona  in 
Spain,  our  map  showed  the  distance  from  that 
city  to  Lourdes  to  be  about  equal  to  its  distance 
from  Marseilles  in  France;  but  being  warned 
that  the  Spanish  railroads  might  prove  to  be 
of  the  ^^maiiana''  style,  we  started  from  the 
latter  place.  We  imagined  that  the  journey 
might  be  of  three  or  four  hours'  duration  and 
were  considerably  surprised  to  find  that  al- 
though taking  the  Express  at  10  o'clock  A.  M. 
and  making  excellent  connections,  we  did  not 
reach  Lourdes  until  11:30  P.  M.  That  is  our 
American  way  of  stating  the  time — will  spare 
you  the  French  complications. 

But  what  an  enjoyable  ride  it  was ! 

Someone —  was  it  Alice  Gary? — must  have 
experienced  a  like  pleasure  when  she  wrote : 

^^  Would  you  put  your  soul  into  sweetest  tune 
Take  a  railroad  ride  in  the  heart  of  June ; 
Go  without  company,  go  without  books, 
Drink  in  the  country  with  long,  loving  looks." 

The  latter  part  of  her  injunction  is  obviously 
fulfilled  in  this  case. 

After  settling  down  to  enjoy  comfortably  the 
ride,  we  learn  that  we  must  change  cars  at  Tar- 
ascon,   which   is    but   a    short   distance    from 

171 


LOURDES. 

Avignon.  Then  again,  after  skirting  the  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean,  we  change  at  Cette ;  then 
on  through  the  omnipresent  grape  fields  with 
their  picturesque  peasants  at  work.  How 
familiar  those  peasants  are  to  us — or  is  it  their 
blouses  that  are  so  ?  The  veritable  blouses  their 
forefathers  wore  on  that  memorable  July  day 
so  long  ago,  when  they  stormed  the  Bastile.  But 
these  peasants  are  quite  peaceful  looking.  Are 
they  conscious  of  the  war  cloud  so  soon  to  burst 
upon  them?  We  had  been  informed  by  a  French 
officer  that  war  was  imminent  between  France 
and  Germany;  also  that  France ^s  Republican 
form  of  government  having  proved  a  failure, 
a  party,  called  the  Orleanists,  was  clamoring 
for  the  return  of  the  king — the  heir  to  the 
throne  being  the  Duke  of  Orleans. 

However,  at  present,  beautiful  Southern 
France  lay  smiling  and  basking  in  sunshine. 
Now  there  is  a  chateau,  and  look,  his  lordship 
of  it  comes  cantering  by  booted  and  spurred 
with  riding  whip  and  hound. 

But  are  we  dreaming,  or  is  that  a  fairy  castle 
sprung  into  existence  in  imagination  only? 
Surely  such  a  castle  was  never  seen  outside  of 
Romance.  The  station  is  Carcassonne,  and  do 
w^e  thus  have  thrust  upon  our  vision  with  so 
startling  unexpectedness,  the  sight  of  all  sights 
in  the  Midi — nay,  the  sight  that  is  longed  for 
and  hungered  for  by  many  as  was  the  view  of 
the  Promised  Land  to  the  Israelites  of  old! 

172 


The  Eucharistic  Congress. 

This  plaint  is  re-echoed  from  more  than  one 
heart : 

CARCASSONNE. 

<<  *I'm  growing  old;  IVe  sixty  years; 

I  Ve  labored  all  my  life  in  vain : 
In  all  that  time  of  hopes  and  fears, 

IVe  failed  my  dearest  wish  to  gain. 
I  see  full  well  that  here  below 

Bliss  unalloyed  there  is  for  none; 
My  prayer  will  ne  'er  fulfilment  know — 

I  never  have  seen  Carcassonne, 

I  never  have  seen  Carcassonne! 

You  see  the  city  from  the  hill; 

It  lies  beyond  the  mountains  blue. 
And  yet  to  reach  it,  one  must  still 

Five  long  and  weary  leagues  pursue. 
And  to  return,  as  many  more ! 

Ah!  had  the  vintage  plenteous  grown! 
The  grape  withheld  its  plenteous  store ! 

I  shall  not  look  on  Carcassonne, 

I  shall  not  look  on  Carcassonne ! 

They  tell  me  every  day  is  there 
Not  more  or  less  than  Sunday  gay; 

In  shining  robes  and  garments  fair. 
The  people  walk  upon  their  way. 

One  gazes  there  on  castle  walls 
As  grand  as  those  of  Babylon, 

A  bishop  and  two  generals! 
I  do  not  know  fair  Carcassonne, 
I  do  not  know  fair  Carcassonne! 
173 


LOURDES. 

The  vicar's  right:  he  says  that  we 
Are  ever  backward,  weak  and  blind ; 

He  tells  us,  in  his  homily: 
Ambition  ruins  all  mankind! 

Yet  could  I  there  two  days  have  spent. 
While  yet  the  autumn  sweetly  shone, 

Ah  me!  I  might  have  died  content. 
When  I  had  looked  on  Carcassonne, 
When  I  had  looked  on  Carcassonne ! 

Thy  pardon,  father,  I  beseech 

In  this  my  prayer,  if  I  offend : 
One  something  sees  beyond  his  reach. 

From  childhood  to  his  journey's  end. 
My  wife,  our  little  boy,  Aignan, 

Have  travelled  even  to  Narbonne; 
My  grandchild  has  seen  Perpignan, 

And  I  have  not  seen  Carcassonne, 

And  I  have  not  seen  Carcassonne!' 

So  crooned,  one  day,  close  by  Limoux, 

A  peasant,  double-bent  with  age. 
^Rise  up,  my  friend,'  said  I,  *with  you 

I'll  go  upon  this  pilgrimage.' 
We  left  next  morning  his  abode. 

But — Heaven  forgive  him — half  way  on 
The  old  man  died  upon  the  road: 

He  never  gazed  on  Carcassonne; 

Each  mortal  has  his  Carcassonne!" 

— From  the  French. 
174 


The  Eucharistic  Congress. 

Now  we  sight  the  Pyrenees  and  the  engine 
laboriously  winds  up  and  in  and  among  them. 

We  reached  Toulouse  as  evening  fell — a 
busy  railroad  center  and  quite  a  large-sized 
town,  clinging  to  our  memory  as  the  ancient 
stronghold  of  Count  Raymond  of  Toulouse,  the 
propagandist  of  the  notorious  Albigensian 
heresy. 

After  changing  cars  at  Toulouse,  night 
settled  down  upon  us  and  drew  a  veil  over  the 
landscape ;  and  then  came  feelings  of  dread  and 
terror  of  entering  so  strange  a  place  at  so  late 
an  hour.  Might  not  the  villagers  be  wrapt  in 
slumber  and  might  not  we  be  compelled  to  go 
from  door  to  door  begging  admittance?  What 
kind  of  place  was  Lourdes  anyhow?  A  little 
village  like  Oberammergau?  One  can,  during 
five  hours  of  darkness,  conjure  up  an  amazing 
amount  of  horrors.  But  let  me  tell  of  the  mar- 
vel which  dispelled  our  fears. 

Nothing  less  than  a  blazing  Cross  which 
shone  high  in  the  sky  of  blackness.  Not  more 
marvelous  to  Constantine  was  the  blazing  em- 
blem with  the  flaming  letters — ''In  hoc  Signo 
VincW' — ^was  that  sign  of  blessing  to  us.  We 
occasionally  lost  sight  of  it  upon  the  turning 
of  the  road,  but  ever  found  it  again.  Blessed 
emblem,  may  It  ever  shine  high  and  bright  in 
our  firmament! 

Before  leaving  Lourdes,  we  stood  upon  the 
summit  of  the  Pic  du  Jer,  the  highest  peak 

175 


LOUBDES. 

of  the  surrounding  mountains,  brought  up  its 
3,000  feet  by  a  funicular  railroad,  and  placed  at 
the  foot  of  that  Cross,  alive  with  electric  wires, 
the  wild  flowers  we  gathered  in  our  ascent. 
Poor  little  token  of  appreciation! 

The  following  sonnet  refers  to  another  of 
the  peaks: 

''LE  PETIT  GERS.'' 

^^How  bleak  it  stands  against  the  eastern  sky. 

Yon  mountain  gray.    See,  on  its  rocky  crown — 

Like  sentinels  of  Heaven  looking  down — 

Three  lofty  crosses  lift  their  arms  on  high 

In  benediction  on  the  passers-by. 

And  guard  the  entrance  to  that  favored  town 

Whose  holy  Grotto  rings  with  earth's  renown 

Since  Mary  came  its  shades  to  sanctify. 

An  image  of  our  lady  hidden  lies 

Beneath  the  crosses  on  that  summit  gray. 

To  mark  a  pilgrim's  vow:  with  tearful  eyes 

And  telling  rosaries  along  the  way. 

He  mounted  barefoot  there  with  fear  and  sighs. 

In  penance  for  a  loved  one  gone  astray. ' ' 

— Rev.  Theodore  A,  Metcalf. 

THE  EUCHARISTIC  CONGRESS. 

The  next  morning,  upon  waking  and  hasten- 
ing to  the  window,  we  were  delighted  with  the 
prospect  which  met  our  gaze. 

Directly  opposite  was  the  old  chateau,  now 
the  town  property,  which  is  stationed  as  a  fort 

176 


The  Eucharistic  Congress. 

upon  the  steep  mountain  side,  and  overlooking 
the  hamlet  of  Lourdes.  Over  and  beyond  the 
building  shone  the  snow-capped  Pyrenees, 
dazzling  in  the  morning  sun.  Looking  down- 
ward, for  our  hotel  was  literally  *' Belvedere, ' ' 
we  swept  the  valley,  and  at  the  farther  end, 
opposite  the  chateau,  was  the  basilica  of  Our 
Lady,  towards  which  thousands  were  already 
wending  their  way. 

^^A  thousand  banners  float  above  thy  aisles, 

O  fair  Basilica.    Thy  walls  are  set — 

Like  jewels  in  a  regal  coronet — 

With  countless  offerings  and  marble  tiles 

Whose  sculptured  records  mark  the  tears  and 

smiles 
Of  grateful  hearts ;  and  like  a  parapet. 
The  soldier's  sword  and  golden  epaulet 
Are  reared  against  thy  sacred  peristyles. 
What  would  they  say,  those  pledges  mute  and 

grave. 
If  living  words  their  forms  should  animate? 
A  mighty  chorus  through  thy  lofty  nave 
Would  rise  and  make  its  vault  reverberate 
With  joyous  echoes  of  the  tuneful  wave — 
^Hail  Mother  dear,  our  Queen  Immaculate.'  " 

— Rev.  Theodore  A.  Metcalf. 

Every  balcony  was  gay  with  streamers,  the 
papal  colors,  and  flowers.  Banners  galore  pro- 
claimed the  town  ^'a  la  Fiesta/'  and  pictures 

177 


LOURDES. 

of  Our  Lady  and  the  Sacred  Heart  decorated 
every  doorway. 

Entering  the  amphitheater,  or  piazza  of  the 
basilica,  under  an  archway  bearing  good  tid- 
ings— Benedictus  qui  venit  in  nomine  Domini — 
we  reach  the  sacred  precincts. 

Obtaining  a  badge  which  every  one,  from  the 
papal  legate  to  the  humblest  peasant,  wore,  we 
are  part  of  the  Eucharistic  Congress. 

The  meetings  opened  with  a  reception  to  his 
Eminence,  the  Legate,  July  22,  and  closed  mth 
a  torchlight  procession  on  the  evening  of  July 
26. 

So  fraught  with  enthusiasm  was  each  meet- 
ing and  so  exuberant  was  the  expression  of 
that  enthusiasm,  that  every  man,  woman  and 
child  in  that  vast  concourse  was,  as  it  were, 
charged  with  magnetism. 

How  specify  the  numerous  momentous  occa- 
sions? How  give  adequate  figures  to  express 
the  numbers  attending?  One  might  as  well  try 
to  count  the  sands  on  the  sea  shore ! 

Of  the  ecclesiastics  attending,  besides  the 
Legate,  were  nine  Cardinals,  one  hundred  and 
sixty-eight  Archbishops  and  Bishops,  and  eight 
thousand  Priests;  and  of  the  various  nations 
represented,  the  description  in  Holy  Writ  of 
that  memorable  gathering  on  the  first  coming 
of  the  Holy  Ghost  seems  fit  to  enumerate  them : 
'^Parthians,  and  Medes,  and  Elamites,  and  in- 
habitants of  Mesopotamia,  Judea,  and  Cappa- 

178 


The  Eucharistic  Congress. 

clocia,  Pontus,  and  Asia,  Phrygia,  and  Pam- 
phylia,  Egypt,  and  the  parts  of  Libya  about 
Cyrene,  and  strangers  of  Rome,  Jews  also,  and 
proselytes,  Cretes,  and  Arabians:  we  have 
heard  them  speak  in  onr  own  tongues  the  won- 
derful works  of  God.'' 

The  Latin  tongue,  the  language  of  Holy 
Church,  was  used  entirely  in  the  Sacerdotal 
meetings.  French  was  used  in  the  general 
meeting  held  in  the  V Esplanade  of  the  Rosaire. 
There  was  a  German  section,  and  sections  for 
other  European  nations,  besides  reunions  of 
the  different  religious  societies,  and  of  the  men, 
the  women  and  the  children. 

The  English  speaking  section  was  presided 
over  by  typical  Englishmen,  who  apparently 
were  not  congenial  to  the  large  Irish  delegation, 
for  they  speedily  and  strenuously  set  to  work 
to  open  up  a  distinctly  Irish  section  which 
proved  an  inspiration. 

Rallying  around  their  banner  came  a  Scottish 
delegation,  and  some  few  Americans  who  under- 
stood the  situation,  as  there  was  no  American 
section,  nor  were  the  Americans  organized  in 
any  way,  though  doubtless  many  of  the  clergy 
and  laity  attended. 

The  American  flag  was  prominent  in  the 
parades  among  the  flags  of  all  nations,  but  I 
imagine  that  it  was  the  personal  property  of 
Mr.  McGrane  of  New  York,  as  he  was  present 
with  a  party  of  his  tourists. 

179 


LOURDES. 

Seeing  the  dear  old  Stars  and  Stripes  upon 
the  campus,  we  rallied  around  it,  only  to  be 
snapped  up  by  the  Pathe  ^  ^  movies. ' ' 

His  Lordship,  Cardinal  Logue,  Archbishop 
of  Armagh,  graced  the  Irish  section  with  his 
presence,  and  spoke  feelingly  of  the  troublous 
state  of  affairs  at  home.  Alas,  how  overwhelm- 
ing that  cloudburst ! 

Cardinal  Farley,  our  own  representative, 
also  lent  his  presence  and  congratulated  the 
Irish  upon  their  spiritual  head  and  spoke  with 
friendly  reminiscence  of  the  visit  paid  by  him 
to  America.  He  also  mentioned  an  incident  of 
his  own  visit  to  Ireland  many  years  ago,  when 
the  people  were  just  beginning  to  enjoy  a  little 
of  emancipation.  Noticing  their  improved  bear- 
ing and  how  erect  they  held  their  heads,  some 
of  the  clergy  evinced  a  disposition  to  fear  that 
with  their  freedom  they  might  waver  in  their 
unswerving  allegiance  to  Holy  Mother,  the 
Church. 

He  had  reassured  them  upon  that  score,  cit- 
ing the  Americans  as  an  instance;  for  nowhere 
on  the  face  of  the  earth  did  Catholics  enjoy 
greater  freedom,  and  nowhere  were  they  more 
faithful  to  the  Church. 

His  Eminence  then  humorously  promised 
them  that  should  the  Catholics  in  Ireland  cease 
to  uphold  their  holy  faith,  plenty  of  their 
descendants  in  America  would  be  able  and 
willing  to  go  over  as  missionaries  to  convert 
them.  ^gQ 


The  Eucharistic  Congress. 

The  humor  of  the  remark  may  not  have  been 
appreciated  by  the  brilliant  young  Irish  clergy 
present,  as  all  need  of  spiritual  assistance  from 
America  was  vigorously  disclaimed. 

A  clergyman  of  the  diocese  of  Cork  spoke 
about  Little  Nellie  of  the  Holy  God,  the  child 
of  four  years  of  age  who  longed  so  fervently 
for  the  Blessed  Sacrament  that  she  was  allowed 
to  partake  of  the  Sacred  Food — and  that  some 
few  years  before  the  decree  of  the  late  Holy 
Father  in  regard  to  child  communicants.  She 
is  like  to  be  made  the  patron  of  first  communi- 
cants, and  is  soon  to  be  beatified.  The  Ave 
Maria,  our  American  Catholic  magazine,  had 
an  article  upon  the  subject  some  short  time 
since. 

A  very  interesting  speaker  at  the  same  sec- 
tion was  the  Bishop  of  Burmah,  coal  black,  who 
spoke  English  charmingly,  and  whose  address 
was  most  enjoyable.  Should  like  to  state  the 
gist  of  his  remarks,  but  alas !  cannot  reproduce 
his  benign  personality  : 

*^  It  is  a  pleasure  to  address  the  Irish  people, 
for  they  have  much  in  common  with  us  of  India. 
We  are  both  under  the  same  government;  also 
the  Irish  people  have  a  great  honor  for  St. 
Patrick.  We  in  India  also  honor  him,  and  over 
every  Catholic  doorway  is  his  statue;  for  St. 
Patrick  drove  the  snakes  out  of  Ireland,  and 
we  also  pray  our  people  may  not  be  bitten  by 
those  pests  of  India. 

181 


LOURDES. 

There  are  also  snakes  of  another  type  in 
India  which  we  pray  St.  Patrick  to  free  us  from, 
and  they  are  the  false  teachers  who  come  and 
try  to  sow  discord  and  iniquitous  doctrine 
among  our  people.  Now,  my  dear  good  Irish 
people,  pray  to  St.  Patrick  that  the  snakes  mil 
not  bite  our  people,  but  rather  that  they  will 
bite  those  false  prophets.'' 

Before  the  Congress  closed,  His  Eminence, 
Cardinal  Granito  Pignatelli  di  Belmonte,  the 
Papal  Legate,  honored  the  section  by  his  pres- 
ence and  by  a  short  address. 

Should  like  to  make  some  report  of  the  meet- 
ings of  the  other  sections,  but  not  being  ubiqui- 
tous, cannot,  and  this  meager  account  of  the 
proceedings  of  the  Congress  may  not  reflect  in 
the  slightest  way,  the  brilliance  of  the  event. 

Those  who  attended  the  other  sections,  and 
particularly  the  clergy  who  attended  the  Re- 
unions SacerdotaleSy  may  consider  the  affair 
not  stated  at  all ;  for  by  the  enthusiastic  shouts 
and  cheers  and  hurrahs  which  issued  from  their 
section,  wonderful  things  must  have  transpired 
there,  which  they  will  doubtless  be  pleased  to 
pass  along. 

Must  not  fail  to  mention  a  very  elaborate 
ceremony  which  was  performed  in  the  Church 
of  the  Rosary  by  the  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem — 
the  Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass  according  to 
the  Maronite  rite.  It  apparently  was  of  keen 
interest  to  ecclesiastics,  for  so  intense  was  their 

182 


The  Eucharistic  Congress. 

absorption  in  following  the  ceremonies,  that 
many  stood  upon  chairs  and  craned  their  necks 
for  better  views. 

THE  GROTTO. 

**Upon  the  hillside — looking  o'er  the  stream 
That  kisses  Mary's  Grotto,  as  it  flows 
Beside  the  rock  where  creeping  ivy  grows 
And  hanging  blossoms  cling  to  every  seam — 
I  stood  at  night  to  watch  the  golden  gleam 
Of  countless  tapers,  whose  reflection  throws 
A  blushing  halo,  like  a  budding  rose. 
Throughout  that  Grotto,  making  it  a  dream 
Of  blissful  paradise;  and  spotless  white 
Our  Lady's  image  smiling  in  her  shrine. 
Seemed  'more  immaculate'  against  the  night 
Which  clothed  in  shadow  each  sweet  eglantine ; 
E'en  as  her  loveliness  outshines  the  light 
Of  earthly  beauty  by  its  grace  divine." 

VOIS  TES  ENFANTS  A  GENOUX. 

''And  while  entranced  I  gazed  upon  the  view, 
There  came  the  melody  of  joyful  song 
That  rose  and  fell  in  cadence  sweet  and  strong 
And  sent  its  echoes  all  the  valley  through, 
Repeating,  ^Vois  tes  enfants  a  genoux/ 
The  chanted  anthem  of  a  kneeling  throng 
Of  Mary's  children,  on  the  banks  along 
The  rushing  Gave.    Methought  our  Lady,  too. 
Leaned  forward  at  that  sound  of  music  sweet — 

183 


LOURDES. 

As  once  before  when  Bernadette  was  there 
The  ringing  Angelus  she  bent  to  greet 
With  all  its  memories  of  'Aves^  fair — 
And  falling  prostrate  at  our.  Lady's  feet 
My  heart  went  up  to  her  in  fervent  prayer. ' ' 

— Rev,  Theodore  A.  Metcalf. 

Some  time  was  spent  at  the  Grotto,  at  the 
wonderful  Stations  of  the  Cross  upon  the  hill- 
side and  in  the  basilica,  where  Perpetual  Ador- 
ation of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  was  held. 

From  hundreds  of  altars,  the  Holy  Sacrifice 
of  the  Mass  was  being  offered  up  continuously 
from  midnight  until  12  o'clock  noon  each  day, 
and  what,  with  the  procession  of  the  Blessed 
Sacrament,  which  took  place  every  afternoon 
and  the  torchlight  processions  each  evening, 
when  thousands  upon  thousands  bearing  flam- 
beaus and  chanting  these  strains  which  rolled 
and  swelled  up  over  the  mountain  heights  and 
wound  in  and  out  along  the  valley — what  Pil- 
grims' Chorus  from  Tannhauser  can  compare 
with  it: — 

^^  Christum  regent  adoremus 
Dominantem  gentihus — 
Qui  se  manducantibus 
Dat  spiritus  pinguedinem — 
Christum  regem  adoremus 
Dominantem  gentihus.'' 

St.  Anne's  Day,  1914. 

184 


MEXICO 


SOME  MEMORIES  OF  MEXICO 
IN  THE  YEAR  1905 


MEXICO,  THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW. 

The  first  preliminary  of  a  trip  to  Mexico  is 
a  brushing  up  of  the  past,  for  it  is  from  the 
past  that  the  present  borrows  its  interest. 

We  see  in  spirit  the  dusky  savages  meander- 
ing through  the  valley  where  towers  the  City 
of  Mexico — the  valley  so  high,  so  fair,  so  fertile 
— the  far-famed  Valley  of  Anahuac. 

This  is  now  historic  Mexico ;  the  narrow  strip 
of  lowlands  along  the  coast — the  terra  calientes 
— claiming  no  history,  except,  of  course,  that 
Vera  Cruz,  '^the  true  Cross,''  was  founded  by 
Cortez.  That  is  tropical  Mexico,  and  we  shall 
have  a  glimpse  merely  of  its  luxuriance. 

Besides  the  many  tropical  products  that  are 
familiar  to  us,  we  here  find  some  that  are  dis- 
tinctly Mexican:  Chirimoyas,  sapodillas,  gua- 
vas,  etc. 

But  in  our  valley,  8,000  feet  above  the  sea, 
our  ^^ highlands  of  the  tropics,"  our  ^^ Egypt 
of  America, ' '  our  ' '  old  New  World, ' '  the  ' '  land 
of  the  cacti,"  the  ^'Venice  of  America,"  the 
**semi  -  barbarous  Spain,"  the  ^^land  of 
manana ' ' — shall  w^e  revel  in  the  unfamiliar. 

Those  mystic  savages  that  in  prehistoric 
times  meandered  through  this  valley  we  call 
Toltecs. 

187 


Mexico. 

They  were  builders — such  great  builders  that 
their  name  was  its  synonym.  In  our  country 
we  call  them  ^* mound  builders." 

There,  one  of  their  mounds — Cholula — a  pyr- 
amid greater  in  extent  than  those  of  Egj^t, 
stands  to  this  day  as  the  foundation  stones  of 
a  temple  to  God,  our  God,  the  God  of  all  crea- 
tures, and  not  to  Quetzelcoatl,  their  god  of  the 
air,  as  they  had  intended. 

There  are  other  pyramids  and  ruins,  but  their 
origin  is  disputed,  as  is  that  of  Cholula:  the 
pyramids  of  the  Sun,  of  the  Moon,  the  Ruins  of 
Mitla,  etc. 

It  was  Cortez  who  overthrew  the  pagan 
temple  of  Cholula  and  after  the  terrible  massa- 
cre of  the  Cholulans,  erected  the  first  chapel 
on  this  spot. 

By  that  time  the  Toltecs  had  disappeared 
from  the  valley,  and  the  Aztecs  had  succeeded 
them. 

Prescott,  in  his  history  of  the  Aztec  Conquest 
by  Cortez,  required  three  volumes  to  tell  the 
story — and  a  fascinating  story  it  is — more  in- 
teresting and  thrilling  than  romance. 

General  Lew  Wallace  presents  it  as  a  ro- 
mance in  his  Fair  God. 

Cortez  had  his  Boswell  in  the  person  of 
Bernal  Diaz,  the  Spanish  historian,  who  ac- 
companied him  on  his  voyage  of  conquest. 

It  is  due  to  him  we  have  such  glowing  ac- 
counts of  the  event. 

188 


Mexico. 

Three  hundred  years  later,  von  Humboldt, 
the  great  German  naturalist,  visited  Mexico, 
and  he  not  only  did  not  with  his  cold  science 
dissipate  the  glamour  of  enthusiasm,  but  even 
added  to  the  interest  of  this  marvelous  region. 

We  look  in  vain  for  the  ^'diadem  of  lakes.'' 
They  are  almost  things  of  the  past.  After  caus- 
ing much  havoc  and  destruction  by  numerous 
overflows  of  the  City  of  Mexico,  situated  in  the 
lowest  part  of  the  valley,  they  are  now  greatly 
reduced  by  the  Mexican  system  of  drainage. 

Lake  Xochimilio,  no  longer  worthy  the  name 
of  lake,  supplies,  however,  the  water  for  the 
famous  La  Viga  Canal. 

This  is  the  great  highway  for  the  produce 
and  flowers  from  the  floating  gardens — the 
cliinampas — to  the  City  of  Mexico. 

Here  we  see  the  same  canoes  that  Cortez  saw 
and  the  same  ^^ gondolier''. 

He  propels  his  canoes  along  the  self-same 
way  pushing  with  a  long  pole. 

There  are  numerous  Indian  villages  on  each 
side  of  the  canal,  but  the  ride  of  sixteen  miles 
is  not  particularly  interesting. 

On  the  royal  hill  of  Chapultepec  is  still  the 
residence  of  the  Mexican  monarchs,  now  called 
presidents. 

The  Spanish  conquerors  dwelt  there,  but 
Maximilian,  during  his  short  dream  empire, 
did  most  to  adorn  it. 


189 


Mexico. 

Many  of  the  rooms  still  are  preserved  as  left 
by  him  and  Carlotta. 

They  are  shown  to  visitors  as  are  also  the 
president's  portion  when  not  occupied. 

Back  of  the  castle  and  closely  adjoining  it 
is  the  National  Military  Academy. 

A  most  courteous  guide,  one  of  the  cadets, 
and  English-speaking,  too,  showed  us  the  way. 

He  pointed  out  the  monument  raised  to  the 
boys  of  the  school  who  heroically  tried  to  de- 
fend the  hill  at  the  time  of  our  war  with  Mex- 
ico. 

In  the  highest  place  of  honor  over  the  en- 
trance arch  is  a  bust  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

It  puzzled  me  as  I  thought  of  the  French  occu- 
pation of  Mexico  as  most  inimical. 

**I  thought  you  did  not  like  the  French,''  I 
said  to  the  guide,  pointing  to  the  bust. 

'^The  French?  Oh,  we  do  not  honor  Napoleon 
as  French.  We  think  only  of  his  great  military 
genius.  This  is  a  Military  Academy,  hence 
we  honor  him." 

The  grounds  are  spacious  and  the  ^4iill  of 
the  grasshopper"  was  literally  covered  with 
flowers,  mostly  geraniums. 

This  was  at  Christmas  time,  and  nearly  9,000 
feet  above  the  sea ! 

The  drive  from  Chapultepec  to  the  city,  two 
miles  long,  was  also  laid  out  by  Maximilian.  It 
was  the  Paseo  Imperial,  but  is  now  called  Paseo 

190 


Mexico. 

de  la  Reforma,  and  it  is  ornamented  on  each 
side  by  monuments  to  Mexican  heroes. 

On  one  end  stands  the  colossal  bronze  eques- 
trian statue  of  Charles  IV,  claimed  to  be  the 
largest  statue  molded  in  one  piece  on  the  con- 
tinent. 

Here  is  another  of  the  monuments  to.Guate- 
motzin,  or  Guatemoc,  the  nephew  of  Monte- 
zuma, the  vanquished. 

He  was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  people  and 
made  a  heroic  rally — but  in  vain,  as  he  was 
captured  and  finally  hanged  by  Cortez.  This 
monument  is  a  glowing  tribute  to  his  efforts 
as  he  is  styled,  ^^The  defender  of  his  nation, '^ 
on  the  base — elaborately  carved  and  depicting 
in  relief  scenes  from  his  life. 

It  is  almost  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Arbor  Noche 
Trieste,  the  ^^tree  of  the  sorrowful  night,''  for 
under  it  Cortez  wept  when  expelled  from  the 
city  by  a  rallying  of  the  foes. 

It  is  appropriately  a  cypress,  and  as  we  in 
our  zeal  for  souvenirs  pluck  a  twig,  the  ever 
polite  guard  doffs  his  cap  and  couteously  in- 
forms us,  ^*No  ay  permisso" — after  it  is  done. 

Of  course,  we  can't  replace  the  twig  on  the 
tree  and  have  to  take  it  home. 

There  is  Cortez 's  house  at  Coyoacan,  which 
is  a  short  distance  on  the  trolley  from  the  City 
of  Mexico. 

There  is  another  house  of  Cortez  at  Cuerna- 
vaca,  which  is  used  now  as  the  State  Capitol. 

191 


Mexico. 

Cuernavaca  is  the  artists^  Mecca  as  it 
abounds  in  many  most  enchanting  views. 

An  original  picture  of  Cortez  is  in  the  Na- 
tional Museum.  He  had  donated  it  to  Jesus 
Hospital,  which  he  founded  in  1527. 

There  also  is  the  Aztec  Calendar  Stone  and 
many  gods,  among  whom  is  Quetzalcoatl.  Here 
also  is  the  sacrificial  stone  in  the  hollowed  cen- 
ter of  which  we  see  the  groove — the  trough — 
towards  the  edge,  through  which  the  blood  of 
the  victims  flowed  so  copiously,  for  thousands 
and  thousands  each  year  were  offered  up  in 
sacrifice,  their  hearts  plucked  out  and  held 
aloft — still  palpitating — to  their  horrible  god 
of  war — Huitzilopochtli !  And  that  wasn  't  the 
worst,  for  after  the  sacrifice  came  the  feast — 
the  flesh  of  the  victims  served  and  relished  as 
any  dainty  was  relished  by  Epicurus  of  old 
Greece.  It  is  well  to  recall  this  circumstance, 
else  had  we  too  great  pity  for  the  conquered. 

And  what  did  the  conquerors  accomplish? 

For  three  hundred  years — we  are  told  by  his- 
torians, so  called — the  Spaniards  oppressed  the 
natives  and  kept  them  ignorant  and  supersti- 
tious. They  were  tyrannical,  avaricious,  as 
were  the  viceroys,  Spaniards  all. 

What  do  we  find  in  Mexico  as  a  remnant  of 
their  rule?    What  shall  we  judge  them  by? 

We  see  churches — grand,  sublime,  monu- 
ments to  their  faith  and  devotion,  adorned  with 
art,  jewels,  treasures  untold. 

192 


Mexico. 

The  Cathedral  of  Mexico  City  is  well  nigh 
unsurpassed  by  any  in  the  world,  but  how  can 
we  describe  it?  We  can  give  its  dimensions — 
length,  breadth  and  height.  We  can  give  its 
history,  its  cost,  but  how  can  we  express  the 
grandeur  and  beauty  of  its  interior,  dismantled 
as  it  is  by  numerous  despoliations? 

How  can  we  describe  its  fourteen  lateral 
chapels,  its  main  altar,  its  Chapel  of  Expiation, 
each  enriched  by  lavish  donations  of  the  many 
viceroys  and  rulers? 

Here  we  see  in  Maximilian's  Chapel  an  ala- 
baster fount,  which  had  been  donated  in  1755; 
also  Maximilian's  confessional,  elaborately 
hand-carved  massive  mahogany,  and  in  Car- 
lotta's  Chapel,  a  statue  of  our  Blessed  Lady 
in  pure  ivory,  donated  by  Napoleon  III. 

In  Mme.  Diaz's  Chapel  is  a  Guido  Eeni,  and 
here  is  a  Madonna  by  Van  Dyke,  donated  by 
Maximilian,  and  here  a  Velasquez,  in  the  Chapel 
of  Santa  Anna  and  here  are  a  Holy  Family 
by  Rubens,  a  Titian  and  a  Michaelangelo. 

We  are  told  Mr.  Rockefeller  offered  $400,000 
for  a  Murilla's  Assumption,  donated  by  the 
second  viceroy  from  Spain. 

The  chandelier  in  the  choir,  solid  brass,  was 
donated  by  the  Empress  Iturbide,  as  was  also 
the  clock. 

The  altar  rail,  a  composite  of  copper,  gold 
and  silver,  and  said  to  weigh  50,000  pounds, 
came  from  Japan,  the  choir  rail  from  China 

193 


Mexico. 

and  the  alabaster  pulpit  from  Milan.  An  offer 
was  made  to  replace  the  rail  by  one  of  solid 
silver,  but  it  was  rejected. 

The  chandeliers  are  of  gold  leaf,  solid  gold 
and  cut  glass  and  the  figures  and  statues  are 
of  pure  onyx  from  Puebla,  and  filigree. 

All  the  viceroys  are  buried  here;  also  the 
Emperor  Iturbide. 

Here  is  a  reliquary  of  the  first  Archbishop 
of  Mexico  and  here  is  Hidalgo's  skull,  and  the 
table  on  which  the  Archbishop  signed  the  ver- 
ification of  the  apparition  of  Our  Lady  of  Guad- 
alupe. 

On  being  informed  that  His  Grace,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Mexico,  w^as  to  confirm  two  hundred 
Indians  in  the  Cathedral  Christmas  afternoon, 
we  were  desirous  of  being  present  at  the  cere- 
mony. 

On  entering  the  church  we  were  greeted  by 
wails  and  cries  in  various  sharps  and  flats 
which  proceeded  from  the  two  hundred  throats 
of  two  hundred  Indian  infants ! 

*^0h,  pshaw!  a  christening!'*  we  exclaimed, 
but  sure  enough  there  was  the  Archbishop  in 
his  pontifical  robes,  administering  the  sacra- 
ment of  confirmation. 

Drawing  nearer,  we  were  elated  at  the  benign 
condescension  of  the  venerable  prelate,  for 
noticing  us,  he  smiled  and  held  out  his  hand. 

He  saw  we  were  strangers,  and  this  was  his 
welcome  to  Mexico,  the  land  of  courtesy! 

194 


Mexico. 

But  alack  aday !  In  kneeling  to  kiss  his  ring, 
there  were  no  expected  altar  steps,  and  down 
we  both  tumbled  on  all  fours  at  his  feet ! 

He  was  at  first  startled,  but  finally  yielded 
to  the  general  smile  that  passed  around  the 
assemblage  and  stretching  forth  his  hand  he 
assisted  us  to  arise  saying  to  each,  ^'Dios  te 
salve !'^  (^^God  save  you.") 

We  have  a  grateful  remembrance  of  him  and 
were  interested  when  informed  afterwards  that 
he  is  a  native  Indian. 

The  Archbishop  and  Diaz,  heads  of  Church 
and  State,  native  Indians! 

And  by  inquiring  why  the  infants  were  being 
confirmed,  we  learned  that  it  is  the  desire  of 
all  good  Mexicans,  that  their  children  be  born, 
baptised  and  confirmed  on  the  same  day! 

THE  CATHEDRAL  TOWERS. 

There  is  another  fall — one  which  I  didn't 
have — and  that's  from  the  Cathedral  towers. 

Nothing  about  Mexico  that  I  had  heard  in 
the  past  had  been  so  impressive  to  me  as  this 
description  of  the  view  from  the  towers: 

^'The  view  of  Mexico  from  the  Cathedral 
towers  is  beautiful.  You  then  perceive  at  once 
the  situation  of  the  capital  of  the  Montezumas. 
It  is  almost  in  the  center  of  a  valley  encircled 
by  mountains.  In  the  distance,  glittering  like 
a  belt  of  quicksilver,  is  a  line  of  six  lakes, ' '  etc. 
etc.    That's  what  Stoddard  had  said. 

195 


Mexico. 

Now,  for  a  view  of  all  Anahuac !  My  pulses 
beat  at  the  prospect. 

But  Compania,  a  person  gifted  with  good 
common  sense,  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  climbing 
the  Cathedral  tower. 

She  would  wait  below,  she  said,  so  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  ascend  alone. 

Up,  up,  up!  This  was  easy — stone  steps, 
straight  ahead. 

To  amuse  myself,  I  counted  the  steps. 

Fifty,  sixty,  sixty-five,  etc. 

It  was  pleasant  to  reach  a  landing  at  last. 

O,  yes,  and  there  was  the  door,  the  guide 
informed  me  of. 

^  ^  Pull  the  string,  and  the  latch  will  fly  open ! ' ' 

I  pulled  the  string,  but  only  a  bell  clanked 
forth.  Then  the  door  flew  open,  and  a  comely 
matron  appeared. 

It  was  a  little  like  Jack-in-the-Bean-Stalk, 
only  it  should  have  been  a  giantess,  I  believe, 
who  appeared.  However,  I  held  out  un  peso, 
and  she  helped  herself  to  it,  and  then  permitted 
me  to  enter.  Here^  was  a  cozy  home,  high  up  in 
the  clouds,  although  an  infant  started  up  a  ter- 
rible wailing,  having  been  wakened,  no  doubt, 
by  the  clanking  bell.  It  was  the  bell  ringer's 
domain. 

Then  I  passed  through  another  door  and 
again  began  the  ascent.  Up!  up,  up!  The 
climbing  was  not  so  pleasant  by  this  time.  The 
steps  were  spiral,  though  enclosed. 

196 


Mexico. 

Up,  up,  up!  I  lost  count  of  the  steps,  but 
kept  repeating:  ^'The  view  of  Mexico  from 
the  Cathedral  towers  is  beautiful,"  etc. 

Thank  heavens,  at  last  a  landing  is  reached. 
I  see  the  daylight  and  the  sky  overhead.  I 
step  out  and  almost  gasp  at  the  prospect.  Bells, 
bells,  bells.  Big,  little,  middle-sized  and  all! 
But  no  view  of  Anahuac  as  the  parapet  was  so 
high  one  could  see  nothing  beyond  it.  All  the 
bells  had  ropes  fastened  to  the  tongues — for  it 
is  by  the  tongues  bells  are  rung  in  Mexico,  as 
in  Eussia. 

Here  was  the  famous  old  melodious  Guada- 
lupe, which  cost  $10,000,  and  weighs  over  six 
tons. 

^^ Could  she  do  it;  dare  she  do  itf 

What  would  old  Mexico  do,  should  the  bells 
peal  forth  at  so  unseasonable  an  hour? 

No  fear,  my  whole  strength  could  not  move 
one  tongue  to  strike  the  sides. 

But  here's  another  door  and  another  spiral. 

Up,  up,  up. 

^'The  view  of  Mexico  from  the  Cathedral 
towers  is  beautiful,''  etc. 

This  spiral  was  entirely  open;  one  could 
glance  down,  down,  down. 

One  false  step  would  be  fatal. 

Then  I  remembered  the  friendly  injunctions 
learned  from  tourists — not  to  ascend  steps  in 
Mexico  too  rapidly,  on  account  of  the  altitude, 
for  the  least  haste  has  often  proved  fatal,  but — 

197 


Mexico. 

*^Tlie  view  of  Mexico  from  the  Cathedral 
towers  is  beautiful/'  etc. 

Then  my  feet  encountered  a  loose  tread  of 
the  stairs,  then  another.  I  grasped  the  bal- 
ustrade, but  it  was  loose  and  tottered — 

I  shall  tell  you  on  good  authority  that  ^^The 
view  of  Mexico  from  the  Cathedral  towers  is 
beautiful, ''  etc. 

If  you  don't  believe  me,  you  can  see  for  your- 
self. 

OTHER  CHURCHES  AND  SHRINES  OF 
MEXICO. 

This  Cathedral  of  Mexico  City  is  only  one  of 
the  10,000  churches  in  the  Republic  which  are 
presided  over  by  six  Archbishops  and  twenty 
bishops. 

A  great  many  are  a  couple  of  centuries  old, 
at  least,  and  all  are  interesting. 

A  number  have  been  despoiled  by  the  laws 
of  the  ^^ Reform,''  and  many  have  been  abol- 
ished altogether,  or  perverted  to  another  use, 
generally  for  some  state  purpose. 

El  Senor  del  Sacramonte,  *^the  Lord  of  the 
Holy  Mount,"  is  a  famous  image,  being  a  cruci- 
fix which  had  been  brought  from  Spain  in  1527. 
It  is  enshrined  in  a  chapel  on  the  Sacramonte 
near  Amecameca,  and  the  old  crumbling  church 
at  Tzintzutzan  contains  a  treasure  which  is 
guarded  most  jealously  by  the  padres,  being  an 
object  of  special  veneration  to  many  pilgrims 

198 


Mexico. 

— ^particularly  artists — for  it  is  none  other  than 
a  marvelous  painting  by  Titian,  ^ '  The  Entomb- 
ment. ' ' 

It  was  given  by  the  Emperor  Charles  V  to 
his  friend,  a  bishop  transferred  from  Madrid 
to  this  Indian  village  of  Tzintzuntzan,  in  1533. 

F.  Hopkinson  Smith,  in  his  charming  book, 
^^A  White  Umbrella  in  Mexico,''  describes  in- 
imitably a  journey  to  this  church. 

Another  holy  shrine  is  that  of  Nuestra 
Senora  de  los  Remedios,  *^Our  Lady  of  Suc- 
cor.'' 

It  contains  a  carved  wooded  statue  of  Our 
Lady  about  eight  inches  long  and  is  in  the 
church  of  Los  Remedios  on  the  hill  of  Totol- 
tepec,  near  Nancalpan. 

It  had  been  brought  from  Spain  by  the  con- 
querors and  many  miracles  are  recorded  in  con- 
nection with  it,  the  first  one  being  the  preser- 
vation of  the  Christians  on  that  terrible  ^*  Dis- 
mal Night." 

But  the  shrine  of  all  shrines  in  Mexico  is  that 
of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe,  the  patroness  of  the 
Indians  and  of  all  Mexico. 

It  was  shortly  after  the  Conquest,  in  1531, 
that  Our  Blessed  Lady  appeared  to  a  poor 
Indian. 

^^Why  are  your  brethren  so  slow  to  accept 
the  faith  of  the  Spaniards?  I  wish  you  for  my 
children,  build  here  a  church  in  my  honor." 

It  was  in  a  voice  of  marvelous  sweetness  that 
she  spoke.  ..qg 


Mexico. 

Poor  Juan  Diego!  Overwhelmed,  lie  sank 
upon  his  knees. 

**Go  to  the  bishop  and  take  my  message.*' 

But  the  poor,  humble  Indian  is  not  credited. 

Again  he  meets  the  beautiful  Lady  and  she 
gently  repeats  her  commands. 

But  he  implores  her  to  find  a  more  worthy 
messenger,  not  a  poor,  ignorant  Indian.  He 
will  not  be  believed. 

So  she  tells  him  to  ask  the  bishop  what  token 
he  requires. 

And  the  bishop  says:  *^If  roses  spring  from 
the  rocks  on  the  barren  hillsides,  I  will  credit 
your  story. ' ' 

That  night  the  uncle  of  Juan  Diego  became 
seriously  ill,  and  Juan  hastens  to  fetch  the 
priest — for  both  he  and  his  uncle  had  been  bap- 
tised. 

He  does  not  wish  to  meet  the  Lady,  for  he 
fears  she  will  detain  him,  so  he  takes  a  different 
path  to  avoid  the  spot  where  she  had  appeared. 

Simple  Juan  Diego ! 

She  tells  him  to  return  to  his  uncle,  as  his  ill- 
ness had  left  him,  and  to  pluck  those  roses  and 
take  them  to  the  bishop. 

And  not  only  the  roses  did  he  take,  carried 
so  carefully  in  his  tilma,  for  when  it  was  un- 
folded— behold,  there  was  the  image  of  the 
Blessed  Lady  herself  impressed  upon  the 
blanket. 

200 


Mexico. 

It  is  the  same  miraculous  picture  that  is  over 
the  high  altar  in  the  beautiful  church  of  Our 
Lady  of  Guadalupe  to  this  day. 

Artists,  scientists,  from  all  quarters  of  the 
globe  have  examined  the  picture,  and  all  must 
acknowledge  that  it  was  no  human  hand  that 
impressed  it  upon  the  cloth. 

Truly  did  the  sovereign  pontiff  declare  when 
verifying  the  apparition,  ^^Non  fecit  taliter 
omnia  nationes ! ' ' 

(^^So  great  favor  was  not  done  to  any  other 
nation!*') 

EDUCATION  UNDER  THE  VICEROYS. 

The  first  university  in  the  new  world  was 
built  in  Mexico  and  so  also  was  the  first  news- 
paper printed  here. 

Prof.  Frederick  Starr  of  the  University  of 
Chicago,  in  his  book,  ^^  Modern  Mexican  Auth- 
ors,'' translates  an  instance  which  ought  to 
make  us  feel  quite  behind  the  times  in  our  so- 
called  modern  educational  theories — compul- 
sory education,  etc. 

He  states  that  one  of  the  early  Spanish 
padres  was  so  full  of  zeal  for  the  education  of 
the  young  that  he  had  a  law  passed  compelling 
the  grandees,  the  hidalgos,  to  send  their  chil- 
dren to  his  school  under  pain  of  penalty,  fine, 
etc. 

The  hidalgos,  as  well  as  the  Indians,  were 
very  indifferent  about  education,  as  is  obvious 

201 


Mexico. 

from  the  necessity  of  the  law,  but  to  escape  the 
penalty  sent  the  children  of  their  retainers  in- 
stead. 

When  they  awoke  to  the  fact  of  the  wonder- 
ful advantages  enjoyed  by  their  servants,  they 
were  glad  to  send  their  own  children. 

Now^  in  the  Republic  are  free  schools  scat- 
tered broadcast. 

Each  Indian  village  has  at  least  one  or  more. 

We  are  told  that  in  all,  English  is  a  compul- 
sory study,  above  the  Fourth  Grade. 

We  judge  that  the  law  has  not  been  long  in 
effect,  or  that  the  knowledge  of  the  English  lan- 
guage must  be  of  slow  growth,  for  nowhere  did 
we  encounter  an  Indian  or  Mexican  who  under- 
stood it — that  is,  among  the  peons,  those  who 
would  patronize  those  free  schools. 

President  Diaz  himself  does  not  speak  or 
understand  English. 

The  Americans,  of  whom  there  are  10,000  in 
the  City  of  Mexico,  have  their  own  instructors 
brought  from  the  States. 

We  were  informed  that  a  rule  had  to  be  made 
forbidding  the  pupils  to  speak  Spanish  at 
recess,  so  quickly  do  language  and  environ- 
ment impress  themselves  upon  the  young ! 

An  American  miss — quite  a  young  one — who 
had  lived  for  most  of  her  few  years  in  Mexico 
at  Saint  Louis  Potosi,  was  speaking  to  us  about 
the  bull  fights.  This  is  what  she  said:  ^*0h, 
we  had  a  bull  fight  at  our  house,  arranged  espe- 

202 


Mexico. 

cially  for  children !  We  killed  two  goats  and  a 
calf!'' 

(I  wondered  if  her  father  were  an  enterpris- 
ing stock  yards  man!)     ^'It  was  the  most  fun! 

In  children's  bull  fights,  ladies  can  ride 
around  the  ring  and  be  the  picadores.  I  was 
one. 

But  I  saw  a  real  bull  fight  once.  It  was 
grand!  The  bull  tossed  the  matador  seven 
feet  high  into  the  air,  and  then  trampled  him 
to  death. 

I  never  had  so  much  fun  in  my  life!" 

THE  BULL  FIGHT. 

The  Toreador's  Song  in  Carmen  had  given 
us  some  idea  of  a  bull  fight,  but  now  we  are  in 
touch  with  the  pulse  of  the  nation.  We  feel  its 
heart  throbs — thousands  of  us,  intent,  expec- 
tant, breathless! 

How  awful  the  excitement!  Mexican  theat- 
ricals and  music  were  a  side  issue,  indeed ! 

At  last  a  blast  of  music.  The  ^^ Quadrille" 
dances  into  the  arena.  Prancing  steeds,  gallant 
picadores.  0,  but  they  are  welcomed  vocifer- 
ously and  they  gallop  around  the  circuit,  salut- 
ing. 

Then  come  the  banderilleros,  and  then  the 
puntilleros. 

How  handsomely  clad!  This  is  surely  Old 
Spain. 

203 


Mexico. 

But  what  now?  Who  comes?  What  shout- 
ing, tossing  of  hats,  clapping,  screaming  until 
hoarse ! 

''Fuentes!    Fuentes!'' 

There  he  is,  the  hero  of  the  hour !  The  popu- 
lar idol.  Fuentes,  the  mighty  toreador  from 
Spain. 

The  beautiful  cloaks  are  tossed  aside. 

But  now ! 

In  comes  the  bull.    He  is  bewildered. 

The  picadores  greet  him  with  spear  thrusts. 

He  would  fain  avoid  them,  but  is  not  allowed. 

The  banderilleros  spread  in  front  of  his 
amazed  gaze  their  flaming  scarlet  cloaks. 

He  rushed  towards  them,  but  they  nimbly 
step  aside. 

The  puntillero  steps  up  and  dexterously 
pierces  his  neck  with  barbed  arrows. 

Others  follow  suit. 

He  is  tormented,  infuriated. 

And  now,  0!  horrors!  and  horrors,  again, 
for  this  is  the  horror  of  the  fight. 

He  rushes  at  the  picador  who  slides  off  his 
horse,  but  the  poor  beast,  blind-folded,  does  not 
see  his  foe — and  what  follows ! 

Let  me  not  write  it,  let  me  not  think  of  it! 
Shut  it  out  from  my  memory  forever!  But  it 
is  the  inevitable  occurrence,  the  whetting  of 
the  appetite  for  the  treat.  It  is  the  satisfying 
the  craving  of  the  populace  for  a  taste  of  gore. 

The  poor  horse  is  literally  ripped  open  by 

204 


Mexico. 

the  cruel  horns.  He  is  tossed  and  held  aloft 
on  them,  and  then  falls,  his  entrails  strewing 
the  arena! 

These  are  only  the  preliminaries.  The 
matador  has  been  standing  idly  by  watching 
this  side  play,  for  the  bull  has  been  only  sported 
with,  as  a  mouse  by  the  kittens. 

Soon  the  populace  have  had  enough  of  wait- 
ing, and  call  for  the  matador  (toreador).  He 
is  the  killer  so  he  comes  forth  and  the  real  fight 
begins. 

Nimble  and  dexterous  and  skilled  he  is,  and 
after  placing  a  dagger,  once,  twice,  three  times 
into  the  animal,  he  finally  touches  the  vital 
spot,  and  presto !  he  has  conquered. 

That  is  only  one  bull,  and  six  or  more  are 
killed  at  each  fight  and  these  fights  take  place 
every  Sunday  and  feast  day  throughout  the 
year! 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  VICEROYS. 

Among  the  sixty-odd  viceroys  who  ruled 
Mexico  for  Spain,  it  is  interesting  to  note  that 
one  was  a  lineal  descendent  of  Columbus,  and 
that  another  was  the  Count  of  Montezuma,  a 
connection  of  the  line  of  ancient  kings. 

The  last  of  the  viceroys  was  O'Donoju,  pro- 
nounced O'Donohue  (more  power  to  him!) 

In  the  beginning  of  the  19th  century  a  cer- 
tain little  man  in  Europe  was  holding  the  cen- 
ter of  the  stage  B  'affairs. 

205 


Mexico. 

His  name  was  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  Charles 
IV,  whose  monument  we  viewed  in  the  Paseo, 
was  the  king  of  Spain. 

Napoleon  wished  his  throne  as  a  resting  place 
for  the  dignity  of  his  brother  Joseph,  so 
Charles  abdicated  in  his  favor. 

For  a  while,  then,  Joseph  Bonaparte  was 
king  of  Spain,  and  consequently  ruler  of  Mex- 
ico. 

Then  the  son  of  Charles  obtained  the  throne 
and  then  Charles  himself  wanted  it  back  again ; 
and  meanwhile  poor  Mexico  became  somewhat 
muddled  as  to  whom  she  owed  allegiance. 

Finally,  Hidalgo,  a  priest  of  the  little  parish 
of  Dolores,  raised  the  standard  of  liberty,  in 
1810.  The  following  year  he  was  imprisoned 
and  shot.  We  see  at  Chihuahua,  the  room  in 
which  he  was  confined  and  also  the  fine  monu- 
ment and  statue  that  have  been  erected  over 
the  place  of  his  execution  and  his  portrait  is 
hung  in  the  National  Palace  (the  Viceroy's 
Mansion)  while  the  Mexican  government  has 
affixed  his  name  to  that  of  the  Indian  village 
of  Guadalupe,  which  is  now  called  Guadalupe- 
Hidalgo,  for  the  standard  he  raised  for  freedom 
was  a  banner  bearing  an  image  of  Our  Lady  of 
Guadalupe. 

A  compatriot — also  a  priest,  Morelos — con- 
tinued the  warfare  and  he  also  was  put  to 
death,  but  the  torch  of  freedom  was  not  how- 
ever, extinguished,  and  continued  to  burn  un- 

206 


Mexico. 

til  finally  Iturbide,  the  Spanish  general,  him- 
self joined  issue  with  the  Mexican  forces. 
Thereby  O'Donoju  was  forced  to  abdicate  in 
1821,  and  Iturbide  had  himself  proclaimed 
emperor,  1822.  He  was  forced  to  resign  in 
1823,  and  was  banished,  but  the  next  year  he 
returned,  was  captured  and  shot. 

MEXICO,  THE  REPUBLIC. 

The  baby  republic  was  not  fortunate  in  its 
foster-father,  Santa  Anna,  the  irrepressible 
one,  the  intriguer.  Born  in  Mexico  in  1795,  he 
entered  the  Spanish  army  and  fought  against 
his  countrymen  until  1821,  when  he  joined 
Iturbide,  who  promoted  him  to  high  offices. 

When  Iturbide  established  an  empire,  Santa 
Anna  proclaimed  a  republic  and  brought  about 
his  patron's  downfall,  but  in  1829  he  tried  to 
again  bring  Mexico  under  Spanish  rule. 

His  policy,  which  was  to  reduce  the  states  to 
provinces  and  place  all  power  in  the  central 
government,  lost  his  country  Texas,  in  1836. 

Texas  was  very  far  from  the  national  center, 
and  the  means  of  communication  were  few. 

Many  adventurers  from  the  United  States 
had  poured  into  that  province — celebrated  for 
its  cattle-raising.  Austin  had  brought  300 
families  which  settled  on  the  site  now  bearing 
his  name  and  it  became  more  American  than 
Spanish. 

207 


Mexico. 

The  United  States  had  completed  the  Louis- 
iana Purchase,  but  inherited  with  it,  the  old 
dispute  with  Mexico  over  boundary,  so,  during 
the  dispute,  Texas  set  up  a  claim  for  independ- 
ence. The  Alamo,  in  San  Antonio,  now  a  war 
museum,  was  its  ^'cradle  of  liberty.'' 

It  was  a  convent  in  the  old  Spanish  days, 
but  was  used  as  a  fort,  defended  by  Col.  Bowie 
(of  bowie-knife  fame),  David  Crockett  and  a 
handful  of  men,  but  Santa  Anna  marched 
against  them,  captured  the  fort,  and  killed  the 
defenders,  but  Gen.  Houston  later  defeated  him 
at  San  Jacinto. 

Texas  thus  won  her  independence  and  she  be- 
came a  republic,  with  Houston  as  president. 

That  government  did  not  long  survive,  how- 
ever, owing  chiefly  to  financial  reasons,  so  the 
Americans  applied  for  annexation  to  the 
United  States,  after  which  followed  our  war 
with  Mexico,  1845-1848. 

One  of  the  battles  of  that  war  Whittier  im- 
mortalized in  his  poem — 

^^The  Angels  of  Buena  Vista.''    He  closes  with 
this  tribute  to  the  ^^ Angels:" 

**But  the  noble  Mexic  women  still  their  holy 
task  pursued 

Through  that  long,  dark  night  of  sorrow,  worn 
and  faint  and  lacking  food. 

Over  weak  and  suffering  brothers,  with  a  ten- 
der care  they  hung, 

208 


Mexico. 

And  the  dying  f  oeman  blessed  them  in  a  strange 
and  Northern  tongue. 

Not  wholly  lost,  O  Father!    is  this  evil  world 

of  ours; 
Upward,  through  its  blood  and  ashes,  spring 

afresh  the  Eden  flowers ; 
From  its  smoking  hell  of  battle.  Love  and  Pity 

send  their  prayer. 
And  still  thy  white-winged  angels  hover  dimly 

in  our  air!'^ 

For  about  half  a  century  after  the  birth  of 
the  Mexican  republic,  the  country  was  in  a 
state  of  chronic  disorder  and  civil  war,  and 
through  it  all,  Santa  Anna  bobbed  up  serenely. 

He  was  a  great  man — in  one  respect,  at  least 
— for  through  it  all  he  preserved  his  head  and 
he  had  the  distinction  which  was  unique  in 
Mexico  at  that  time — of  dying  a  natural  death. 

That  happy  event  occurred  in  1876,  and  from 
that  date  Mexico 's  advancement  and  prosperity 
began. 

During  those  fifty  years,  Mexico  had  fifty- 
two  presidents  and  one  emperor,  and  each 
change  in  a  ruler  was  brought  about  by  so  much 
bloodshed  that  its  history  would  read  like  an 
obituary  column. 

Santa  Anna  was  president  five  times  and  the 
president's  master  times  without  number. 

After  the  loss  of  Texas  and  his  capture  by 

209 


Mexico. 

Houston,  he  was  held  a  prisoner  for  a  time  in 
the  States,  and  was  in  disfavor  with  his  coun- 
tr^Tnen ;  but  afterwards  the  French,  luckily  for 
him — attacked  Vera  Cruz  and  in  his  gallant  de- 
fense of  that  city  he  lost  a  leg. 

That  loss  was  a  great  gain  to  him,  for  it  re- 
instated him  somewhat  in  the  good  graces  of 
the  people. 

On  the  fall  of  the  national  capital  to  Scott 
he  resigned  the  presidency  and  fled  the  city  by 
night. 

In  1853  he  was  recalled  by  a  revolution  in 
his  country  and  made  president  for  life  with 
the  title  of  *^Most  Serene  Highness.'* 

His  harsh  rule,  however,  provoked  a  number 
of  revolts  and  he  Was  driven  from  the  country. 

On  the  establishment  of  an  empire  under 
Maximilian  he  was  allowed  to  return  and  was 
appointed  grand  marshall  of  the  empire. 

That  high  office  even,  could  not  make  him 
faithful,  and  he  plotted  against  this  patron 
also,  and  was  again  driven  forth. 

On  the  death  of  Maximilian,  he  attempted  to 
return,  was  captured,  tried  by  court  martial, 
and  sentenced  to  death,  but  Juarez  pardoned 
him,  on  condition  of  his  leaving  the  country, 
and  the  now  old  man  amused  himself  as  best 
he  could  in  the  United  States — mostly  in  New 
York  until  a  general  amnesty  in  1872  allowed 
him  to  return  to  Mexico.  He  was  then  77 
years  old.     Four  years  later  he  died,  and  is 

210 


Mexico. 

buried  in  the  beautiful  cemetery  in  the  church- 
yard at  Guadalupe-Hidalgo. 

MAXIMILIAN,  THE  EMPEROR  OF  MEXICO. 

What  with  civil  war  and  strife,  Mexico's  re- 
sources were  well-nigh  exhausted. 

When  she  proclaimed  her  inability  to  meet 
her  foreign  financial  obligations,  three  Euro- 
pean countries,  England,  France  and  Spain, 
sent  war  ships  in  protest,  and  also  to  protect 
their  respective  citizens. 

Afterwards  England  and  Spain  withdrew 
their  forces,  but  the  French  fleet  remained,  and 
held  the  capital,  1862. 

Louis  Bonaparte,  Napoleon  III,  was  then 
emperor  of  France  and  he  wished  to  increase 
his  own  glory  by  making  Mexico  a  vassal  of  that 
country,  so  he  invited  Maximilian,  the  arch- 
duke of  Austria,  and  younger  brother  of  the 
emperor  Francis  Joseph,  to  the  throne  which 
he  accepted  in  all  good  faith  thinking  it  a  kind- 
ness to  govern  a  country  so  utterly  unable  to 
govern  itself.  He  with  his  wife,  Carlotta, 
daughter  of  Leopold,  the  king  of  Belgium,  was 
crowned  in  the  Cathedral  of  Mexico  in  1864. 

Mexico  invoked  the  protection  of  the  United 
States  according  to  the  Monroe  Doctrine,  in 
vain,  as  that  country  was  engaged  in  its  own 
Civil  War,  but  when  that  ended  America  or- 
dered the  French  troops  Recalled.     Carlotta 

211 


Mexico. 

sought  aid  from  Napoleon  and  from  the  pope 
but  in  vain,  so  Maximilian  was  helpless,  though 
he  made  a  desperate  defense  at  Puebla  and 
at  Queretaro.  At  the  former  place,  Diaz,  the 
present  president  of  Mexico,  distinguished  him- 
self with  the  Republican  forces. 

Maximilian  was  tried  by  court  martial  and 
shot;  while  Carlotta  became  hopelessly  insane. 

On  the  Hill  of  the  Bells  at  Queretaro  were 
three  black  crosses  marking  the  spot  where 
perished  Maximilian  and  his  two  generals, 
Mijia  and  Miramon,  but  later  a  memorial 
chapel  has  been  built  there  in  honor  of  the 
martyred  emperor. 

JUAREZ  AND  THE  '' REFORM." 

In  the  southern  state  of  Oaxaca,  in  Mexico, 
was  born  in  1806,  a  child  of  Indian  parents, 
Benito  Juarez. 

He  was  destined  to  play  a  forcible  part  in 
Mexican  affairs,  becoming  a  leader  of  the  Lib- 
erals and  overthrowing  the  Conservatives,  or 
Church  party. 

Of  all  strifes,  that  concerning  religion  is  the 
most  bitter,  and  much  of  the  bloodshed  in  Mex- 
ico was  caused  in  defending  it  or  in  attacking  it. 

During  the  three  hundred  years  of  Mexico's 
subjection  to  Spain,  the  religion  of  the  country 
was  Catholic. 

Church  and  state  were  united. 

212 


Mexico. 

On  the  country's  independence,  two  parties 
existed,  the  one  which  upheld  the  church  and 
the  one  which  opposed  it. 

In  1858  the  Liberal  president  was  overthrown 
by  the  Church  party  and  Juarez,  who  was  vice- 
president  of  the  Liberals,  assumed  the  execu- 
tive, but  was  forced  to  flee  from  the  capital. 

He  was  the  first  protestant  president  of  Mex- 
ico. 

He  was  a  mason  and  fought  to  overthrow  the 
Church. 

It  was  a  strife  somewhat  similar  to  that  in 
France  at  the  present  day. 

In  1859  he  issued  from  Vera  Cruz,  where  he 
was  forced  to  remain,  his  Laws  of  the  Eeform. 

They  were  harsh  mandates  against  the  relig- 
ion of  the  country. 

The  church  property  was  confiscated. 

Religious  Orders  were  driven  out  of  the  coun- 
try. 

No  religious  procession  was  allowed  on  the 
streets. 

No  priest  was  to  be  seen  on  the  street  in  his 
priestly  garb. 

The  Religions  Sisters  were  forced  to  leave 
their  convents. 

Civil  marriage  only  was  recognized  by  the 
state. 

We  can  realize  how  the  Church  party  wel- 
comed Maximilian  as  a  means  of  opposing  those 
arbitrary  laws. 

.      213 


Mexico. 

On  the  death  of  Maximilian,  Juarez  entered 
the  capital  and  was  elected  president  for  four 
years. 

He  was  re-elected  in  1871,  during  many  fierce 
revolutionary  uprisings. 

He  died  suddenly  the  next  year.  He  is  buried 
in  San  Fernando  Cemetery,  in  the  City  of  Mex- 
ico. His  tomb  is  literally  lined  with  wreaths, 
crowns,  and  masonic  emblems  of  every  shape 
and  hue. 

He  is  called  by  some  the  Lincoln  of  his  race. 

Very  bitter  indeed  must  be  their  hatred  of 
religion  when  they  compare  it  to  the  slavery 
from  which  our  noble  Lincoln  freed  our 
country ! 

PORFIRIO  DIAZ,  THE  FATHER  OF  HIS 
PEOPLE. 

Early  in  the  nineteenth  century  Oaxaca  gave 
birth  to  another  child  of  Indian  parentage,  Por- 
firio  Diaz. 

Since  1876,  coincident  with  the  death  of  Santa 
Anna,  he  has  been  president  of  the  Mexican 
Eepublic. 

Thirty-five  years  president  of  a  country, 
which  had  as  many  rulers,  formerly,  as  years ! 

Li  our  Lincoln's  Day  celebrations  we  distri- 
bute to  the  children  of  our  schools  pictures  of 
the  log  cabin  in  which  our  hero  was  born. 

It  is  one  of  our  greatest  incentives  to  show 
that  no  matter  how  lowly  or  humble  the  parent- 

214 


Mexico. 

age,  true  greatness  will  assert  itself  and  rise  to 
its  proper  sphere. 

Diaz's  birthplace,  a  humble  adobe  hut,  was 
torn  down  and  a  school  erected  over  the  site. 

It  may  not  be  well  to  repeat  unkind  state- 
ments, but  we  were  told  in  Mexico,  that  Diaz 
had  his  early  home  torn  down  because  he  was 
ashamed  of  it ! 

We  do  not  know. 

Many  unkind  things  are  said  of  him  in 
Mexico,  but  it  alters  not  our  opinion  of  him. 
He  is  a  great  man,  and  a  prudent  man;  and 
a  mighty  ruler. 

It  is  a  saying  that  *^a  prophet  is  without 
honor  in  his  own  country,"  and  the  saying  is 
verified  in  the  case  of  Diaz. 

He  may  not  be  entirely  without  honor,  but 
we  have  seen  that  he  is  not  without  opposition 
and  intrigue  and  bitter  hatred. 

It  makes  one  only  marvel  the  more  at  his 
great  ability,  and  feel  everywhere  the  strength 
which  his  ^* velvet  glove"  conceals. 

^^We  think  highly  of  your  president,"  we 
have  said  to  Mexicans,  *^he  has  placed  your 
country  among  the  nations  of  the  world. 

What  wonderful  improvements !  What  order ! 
What  discipline!  What  drainage! 

Perfect  safety  of  life  and  property.  Schools, 
railroads,  freedom." 

And  then  the  flashing  eyes  and  the  contracted 
brows. 

215 


Mexico. 

**Yes,  Diaz!*'  has  been  almost  hissed,  and 
from  these  courteous  Mexicans! 

*'You  do  not  like  Diaz?  It's  a  wonder  you 
are  not  afraid  to  speak  as  you  do.  We  might 
tell.'' 

**No,  I  am  not  afraid.  Diaz  is  afraid  of 
America.  He  gives  all  concessions  to  Ameri- 
cans. He  gives  the  railroads.  Yes,  he  is  afraid 
to  fight. 

See  that  case  on  the  Yaqui  River. 

The  Americans  own  the  mines;  they  settle 
there.  They  incite  the  natives  to  rebellion 
against  the  government. 

We  have  spent  thousands  of  dollars  in  re- 
pressing them.  They  are  continually  breaking 
out. 

It  is  Texas  over  again.  Why  doesn't  Diaz 
let  us  fight!  What  if  we  do  get  licked?  We'd 
have  the  satisfaction  of  fighting  anyway. 

Diaz  is  just  afraid,  that's  all,"  etc.,  etc. 

0,  those  fiery  young  Mexicans! 

Fighting  is  in  their  blood.  It  has  been  smold- 
ering for  thirty-one  years. 

Another  says,  **Wait  until  Diaz  is  dead  and 
then  you  '11  see ! ' ' 

I  wonder  what  we'll  see! 

We  see  now,  that  he  holds  the  check-reins 
tight  and  keeps  the  bit  well  in. 

There  is  no  free  press  in  Mexico. 

If   any   newspaper    suggested   that   another 

president  would  be  desired,  that  editor  would 

be  put  to  death. 

216 


Mexico. 

Many  men  are  ^^done  away  with''  and 
nothing  is  thought  of  it. 

It  is  said  to  be  for  the  good  of  the  country. 

Elections  are  a  farce.  When  election  time 
draws  near,  the  chosen  few  get  together  and 
then  the  announcement  is  made  that  Diaz  is  re- 
elected. 

On  the  adoption  of  the  Republican  form  of 
government  in  1824,  Mexico  closely  modeled  its 
Constitution  on  that  of  the  United  States. 

The  president,  assisted  by  six  secretaries, 
was  to  be  elected  for  four  years. 

But  in  the  destiny  of  nations,  who  is  to  be 
the  arbiter! 

Mexico  has  not  much  cause  for  friendliness 
towards  the  United  States.  We  have  taken 
very  much  territory  from  her,  and  now  we  are 
treading  on  her  toes  in  taking  her  most  valu- 
able productions. 

O,  yes,  it  is  American  push  and  energy  and 
capital  and  all  that  but  is  there  an  equal  amount 
of  American  justice  and  uprightness  in  it? 

In  a  certain  well-known  American  periodical, 
we  read  this  glowing  announcement: 

^* Millions  for  America  in  Mexican  copper! 
Mexico  has  produced  in  mineral  wealth  more 
than  a  billion  dollars. 

More  than  half  the  mining  patents  last 
year  were  granted  to  men  who  were,  or  had 
been,  citizens  of  the  United  States. 

Mexico  may  rank  first  in  the  world's  pro- 
ducers of  copper." 


Mexico* 

And  then  it  went  on  to  state  how  many  mines 
were  already  owned  by  a  certain  company  of 
Chicago ! 

It's  fine  for  America,  isn't  it?  My  country, 
I  rejoice  in  your  Might. 

To  the  furthermost  bounds  of  the  earth  your 
strong  right  arm  stretches  forth  to  protect  me 
and  uphold  me. 

What  prouder  title  than  to  be  an  American 
citizen ! 

But  0,  America,  my  country,  let  me  rather 
rejoice  in  your  Eight  than  in  your  Might. 

There  were  other  great  nations  of  the  past, 
and  their  Might  has  crumbled  and  there  re- 
mains only  their  name. 

But  Right  is  eternal. 

Diaz,  forced  to  flee  from  his  country,  has 
died  in  exile. 

One  president  has  succeeded  another  in  rapid 
succession  and  one  political  party  after  an- 
other has  held  sway.  What  with  the  war 
cloud  extending  even  to  our  own  United  States 
the  end  is  not  yet  in  sight. 

His  Grace,  the  most  Reverend  Archbishop 
Ruiz  of  Mexico,  has  graciously  sent  the  follow- 
ing letter  in  response  to  a  request  for  a  state- 
ment concerning  the  recent  upheavals  in  Mex- 
ico. He  is  exiled  in  our  midst — one  of  the  shep- 
herds hounded  that  the  wolves  might  the  more 
easily  devour  their  flocks : 

218 


Mexico. 

Chicago,  March  20,  1917. 
Miss  S.  A.  Eyan, 

832  Windsor  Ave. 
Dear  Miss  Eyan: 

In  answer  to  your  kind  request,  I  am  send- 
ing not  a  sketch  of  the  Mexican  affairs,  which 
would  require  longer  time  than  I  can  dispose  of 
and  a  greater  space  than  the  length  of  a  let- 
ter; but  just  a  few  words  in  due  praise  of  the 
little  known  religiousness  of  that  unfortunate, 
yet  great  people. 

Since  the  early  days  of  the  Spanish  Eule  in 
the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the 
*^good  tidings''  were  fervently  preached  and 
attentively  listened  to.  Most  of  the  Indian 
tribes  accepted  the  Gospel  at  once,  while  the 
task  of  the  conversion  of  some  others  was  a 
hard  one,  and  more  than  one  religious  order  can 
glory  of  several  martyred  missionaries. 

The  rectitude,  integrity,  morality,  behavior; 
— in  sum,  the  whole  life  of  those  early  converts 
was  deserving  and  exemplary. 

Soon  the  country  as  a  whole  became  Catho- 
lic, and  when  later  on  a  new  race  sprang  on  that 
soil,  it  received  from  both  the  Spanish  and  the 
Indian  ancestors  the  patrimony  of  Faith. 

For  nearly  three  and  a  half  centuries,  reli- 
gion was  held  in  reverence  and  honor;  so  it 
could  set  deep  roots,  quite  unaware  of  the  im- 
pending storms  which  eventually  were  to  come 
and  shake  it  most  violently,   as  the  howling 

219 


Mexico. 

winds  shake  the  old  oak  in  the  woods  when  the 
tempest  is  raging. 

Adversity  came  and  has  settled  in  that  coun- 
try ever  since  the  first  years  of  the  past  cen- 
tury. The  Catholics  were  put  to  a  hard  test, 
first  under  a  masqued  persecution  and  after- 
wards, in  three  different  times,  in  an  open 
way — their  churches,  convents  and  colleges 
were  looted  and  seized,  their  worthiest  men 
imprisoned  or  banished  and  no  means  were 
spared  to  seal  the  doom  of  Faith,  among  which 
it  was  perhaps  the  worse  that  the  rulers  obliged 
the  children  to  receive  an  anti-religious  and 
atheistic  instruction. 

There  were  different  stages;  but  it  stands  a 
fact  that  for  more  than  a  century,  once  a  per- 
secution had  subsided,  another  has  taken  its 
place. 

The  test  has  been  a  hard  and  lasting  one. 
How  have  the  Catholic  people  stood  it! 

When  about  the  close  of  1905  you  visited  that 
country,  surely  you  could  not  fail  to  realize 
how  strong,  how  intense  is  Faith  there,  how^ 
people  are,  as  it  were,  identified  with  their 
Faith,  and  do  really  live  a  life  of  Faith. 

A  few  years  ago,  one  of  the  most  honorable 
foreigners  I  have  ever  met,  describing  his  per- 
sonal impressions,  told  me  that  nothing  had 
struck  him  more  deeply  during  his  long  life, 
than  the  most  frequent  use  of  illusions  to  God  in 
the  Mexican  language.    Certainly  such  expres- 

220 


Mexico. 

sions  as  ^^If  God  permits,"  *4f  God  allows/^ 
*' thank  God/'  *^ blessed  be  God/'  *  Upraised  be 
God/'  ^^God  help,"  ^^God  bless  you,"  ^^God  en- 
lighten you, "  *  ^  God  lead  you, "  ^  ^  God  bring  you 
safe"  and  many,  many  more  are  common  in 
daily  conversation.  The  worthy  visitor  ought  to 
add  that  God  has  the  choicest  place  not  only 
on  the  lips,  but  in  the  homes  and  in  the  hearts 
of  the  Mexicans  as  well.  The  most  conspicu- 
ous place  not  only  of  rich  mansions  but  of 
poor  huts  as  well,  is  always  occupied  by  a  pic- 
ture of  our  Divine  Saviour  or  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  Mary. 

On  the  other  hand,  blasphemy  has  always 
been  utterly  unknown,  and  when,  once  upon  a 
time  a  certain  editor  accused  the  people  of  it, 
the  clamor  aroused  against  him  was  as  great 
as  was  my  joy  to  find  that  not  even  blas- 
phemous expressions  and  terms  were  found  in 
the  language  of  the  Mexicans.  It  is  the  sad  lot 
of  the  present  time  to  have  blasphemy  not  only 
on  the  lips  of  some  miscreants,  but  even  printed 
in  the  daily  press  and  spread  throughout. 

If,  during  your  trip,  you  had  the  chance  to 
stop  in  a  country  parish,  you  must  surely  have 
realized  how  careful  are  those  peasants  to  hear 
Mass  on  Sundays,  no  matter  if  it  rains,  or  is 
cold  or  hot ;  no  matter  if  they  live  two,  three,  six 
or  even  more  miles  afar. 

Not  being  there  by  May,  you  could  not  see 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  and,  as  it  were,  lieav- 

221 


Mexico. 

enly  displays  of  devotion  towards  the  Most 
Blessed  Virgin  Mary.  But  perhaps  you  were 
acquainted  with  our  traditional  ^'Posadas''  or 
novena  before  Christmas. 

I  hope  also  that  you  had  the  opportunity  to 
behold  the  December  monthly  pilgrimage  to  the 
Shrine  of  Our  Lady  of  Guadalupe.  None  of 
these  displays  of  Faith  and  devotion  but  are 
grand. 

Now  that  persecution  rages,  and  that  num- 
berless outrages  are  committed  against  the 
Church,  they  suffer,  pray  and  expect  better 
days. 

Meanwhile  they  have  set  an  encouraging  ex- 
ample: they  have  openly  protested  against 
those  articles  of  the  new  constitution  conflicting 
with  their  consciences  and  deep  convictions. 
And  this  they  did  under  the  present,  far  from 
reassuring  circumstances. 

In  view  of  these  facts,  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that,  despite  oppression  and  persecution,  the 
heroic  Mexican  Catholics  shall  continue  to  cling 
to  their  religion  as  hitherto,  and  that  the  Cath- 
olic Faith  so  deeply  anchored  in  their  hearts, 
shall  be  always  their  guide  and  their  most 
prized  treasure. 

With  best  regards,  I  remain 

Very  truly  yours 

Leopoldo  Ruis, 
Archbishop  of  Michoacan 


222 


Personal  Letters  and  Testimonials  to 

Miss  Ryan,  pertaining  to 

her  book, 

**Florence  in  Poetry,  History  and  Art" 


FLORENCE 
IN  POETRY,  HISTORY  AND  ART 


'^Florence  is  Poetry,  History  and  Art,''  by 
Sara  Agnes  Eyan,  is  a  book  that  will  meet  the 
approval  of  those  who  travel  to  Italy  either  by 
steamship  or  in  imagination  under  the  study 
lamp.  It  is  written  by  one  who  has  found 
inner  beauty  everywhere,  and  to  whom  vener- 
able shrines  unfolded  the  story  of  the  renais- 
sance. Florence  lives  again  in  her  pride.  Her 
history  as  told  in  the  records  of  saints,  and 
the  artists  who  came  after,  and  the  poets  of 
all  countries  who  sang  of  them  fill  the  volume 
of  354  pages. 

The  narrative  is  accompanied  by  half-tone 
prints  of  famous  works  of  art  and  photographs 
of  galleries  showing  where  masterpieces  are 
hung.  Although  the  treasures  of  the  city  of 
the  Arno  are  practically  inexhaustible,  Miss 
Eyan  has  made  a  liberal  survey  of  nearly  every- 
thing of  importance  and  including  paintings 
and  sculpture  and  reference  to  places  that  es- 
cape the  average  visitor. 

The  literary  style  has  a  charm  and  the  text 
is  clear  and  friendly,  leading  the  reader 
through  appropriate  quotations  from  various 
writers.  The  opinions  are  woven  together  to 
secure  an  artistic  unity,  escaping  the  pitfalls 
laid  for  the  author  who  lacks  the  personality 
to  give  an  individual  impression  to  a  narrative 
reciting  history  and  borrowing  the  fine  utter- 
ances of  famous  men  and  women  of  the  past. 

225 


Florence 

For  the  benefit  of  those  who  travel  abroad 
and  are  on  the  lookout  for  a  book  to  put  them 
in  the  atmosphere  of  Italy,  the  plan  is  as  fol- 
lows :  *  *  The  Story  of  Florence,  ^ '  recalling  the 
city  of  the  thirteenth  century,  the  saints,  ar- 
tists, churches,  the  republic  and  its  palaces,  car- 
ries the  reader  through  the  noonday  splendor 
of  Florence,  the  era  of  Michaelangelo,  the  Mag- 
nificent and  the  Monk,  the  days  of  Leonardo 
and  Eaphael  into  the  sixteenth  century,  ^^ere 
yet  the  shadows  fall.'*  By  means  of  legends 
and  poetry,  the  romance  is  preserved  and  old 
pictures  and  works  of  art  gain  a  reality  they 
would  never  have  had  by  looking  upon  them 
with  the  average  guide  book.  The  second  part 
of  the  volume  is  a  formal  review  of  the  treas- 
ures of  Florence,  intended  to  serve  as  a  work 
of  reference. 

Miss  Ryan's  choice  of  authorities  is  excel- 
lent. Her  literary  excerpts  come  from  fresh 
sources  as  well  as  those  tried  by  time,  and  it 
is  a  marvel  that  a  teacher  busy  in  the  Chicago 
public  schools  should  have  found  the  leisure 
to  plan  a  work  of  such  extent  and  one  that 
carries  enthusiasm  from  first  to  last.  It  is  the 
product  of  an  unwearied  thinker,  and  one  who 
has  enjoyed  and  understood  the  beauty  of  the 
old  Italian  masters — Lena  M.  McCauleij,  in 
''Art  and  Artists''  of  the  Chicago  Evening 
Post. 


226 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

*^ Florence  in  Poetry,  History  and  Art/'  by 
Sara  Agnes  Eyan,  is  an  elaborate  volume  on 
a  familiar  but  enduringly  fascinating  theme. 
The  plan  of  the  work  presents  two  parts,  the 
first  being  the  story  of  the  city  of  the  Arno, 
covering  the  great  events  and  characters  from 
the  thirteenth  to  the  sixteenth  century.  Poems 
from  all  sources  have  been  carefully  selected  to 
tell  the  story,  and  these  are  varied  where  nec- 
essary by  interpretations  and  notes  filling  out 
the  history. 

The  second  part  is  devoted  to  the  treasures 
of  Florence — churches,  palaces,  galleries  and 
other  places  of  renown.  There  are  over  seventy 
illustrations,  reproductions  of  famous  and 
beautiful  pictures,  as  well  as  some  excellent 
photographs  of  parts  of  the  city. 

The  work  has  evidently  been  a  labor  of  love 
on  the  part  of  the  author-compiler,  and  she 
has  produced  an  attractive  work,  bringing  to- 
gether the  best  thoughts  of  the  many  poets  and 
artists  whose  delight  it  was  to  honor  Florence 
with  their  best  gifts.'' — Chicago  Daily  News. 

*^This  is  a  very  handsome  volume,  well 
printed,  and  put  together  with  discretion  and 
taste. 

It  is  a  veritable  thesaurus  for  the  lover  of 
Florence.  Through  the  centuries  there  is  culled 
the  best  in  all  the  arts.  There  is  woven  an 
engaging  history  of  the  most  fascinating  city  of 
the  world. 

227 


Florence 

The  book  is  divided  into  two  parts.  The  first 
tells  the  story  of  Florence  from  the  thirteenth 
century,  its  saints  and  its  artists.  Part  two  re- 
lates the  treasures  of  Florence,  its  churches  and 
its  palaces. 

The  illustrations  are  a  running  commentary, 
a  magic  moving  picture. 

An  excellent  index  leaves  nothing  to  be  de- 
sired for  the  completion  of  a  very  valuable 
work.  We  recommend  it  to  those  whose  good 
fortune  it  has  been  to  have  visited  the  city 
by  the  Arno,  and  more  so  to  those  contemplat- 
ing such  a  visit.  Here  is  a  guide  book  worth 
while,''— The  New  World. 

^^This  book  is  in  a  class  by  itself.  In  a 
spirited,  tender  fashion  it  tells  the  story  of 
Florence,  giving  the  reader  a  more  definite  un- 
derstanding of  that  wonderful  city  than  the 
more  voluminous  works  dealing  with  a  preten- 
tious mass  of  uninteresting  details. 

Florence  is  a  city  made  famous  by  saints, 
poets,  sculptors,  and  painters.  It  is  the  store- 
house of  much  that  is  precious  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world — it  is  the  treasury  of  some  of  the 
best  creative  works  of  genius.  Eeligion,  Art, 
Poetry  and  Eomance  have  found  their  finest 
interpretations  there  in  the  centuries  now  gone ; 
and  the  saints,  poets,  sculptors  and  painters 
of  Florence  have  left  behind  them  immortal 
monuments  which  have  been  the  inspiration  for 
those  who  walked  in  their  footsteps. 

228 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

There  is  scarcely  a  writer  of  prose  or  poetry 
of  more  modern  times  who  has  not  in  some 
way  glorified  the  memories  of  Florence  and  it 
is  precisely  these  various  sentiments  of  love 
and  affection  that  the  author  has  gathered  in 
this  volume,  weaving  daintily  with  her  own 
deft  touches  the  threads  that  bind  them  to- 
gether. 

The  text  is,  moreover,  illustrated  with  sev- 
enty illustrations,  intelligently  chosen  to  por- 
tray the  glory  of  achievement  and  to  empha- 
size the  splendor  of  the  genius  that  has  made 
Florence  eminent  among  the  cities  of  the 
world.  *^ — Monsignor  Kelly ,  in  The  Church  Ex- 
tension Magazine, 

*^  Italy  is  the  recognized  mother  of  arts  and 
literature.  Florence,  perhaps  more  than  any 
other  Italian  city,  is  pre-eminent  in  both,  and 
in  addition  may  claim  to  have  been  the  birth- 
place of  modern  commercial  and  monetary 
systems. 

The  Medici  made  Florence  financially  fa- 
mous. Dante,  Petrarch  and  Bocaccio  im- 
mortalized her  in  verse  and  prose.  Michael- 
angelo,  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Raphael,  Andrea 
del  Sarto  blazoned  the  glory  of  old  Firenze 
to  the  four  corners  of  the  world  by  their  un- 
surpassing  skill  with  the  brush.  Lippo  Lippi 
and  his  brother  Angelico,  the  artist  monks,  were 
the  inspired  apostles  of  the  renaissance.    Ghi- 

229 


Florence 

berti,  Donatello,  Da  Fiesole,  Luca  della  Rob- 
bia,  Verrochio  and  Ghirlandajo  heaped  the 
highest  honors  of  sculpture  upon  the  ancient 
city. 

Thus  it  happens  that  Florence,  the  city  of 
flowers,  is  likewise  the  flower  of  cities,  a  treas- 
ure-house of  poetry  and  art,  a  Mecca  for  all 
that  world  which  loves  history  and  romance 
and  the  masterpiece  of  the  thirteenth,  four- 
teenth, fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries. 

In  her  volume,  ^'Florence  in  Poetry,  History 
and  Art,*'  Sara  Agnes  Ryan  has  compiled 
within  a  scant  350  pages,  the  written  refer- 
ences to  Florence  of  more  than  100  authors, 
with  a  brief  history  of  the  Lily  of  the  Arno, 
her  great  merchants  and  bankers,  her  artists, 
poets  and  sculptors,  famous  buildings,  splen- 
did statues  and  celebrated  paintings. 

The  work  is  an  invaluable  companion  to  the 
visitor  to  Florence.  By  its  aid  one  whose 
knowledge  of  the  city  must  be  confined  to  read- 
ing can  become  familiar  with  every  phase  of 
the  world's  most  renowned  art  center. 

The  writer  has  produced  a  painstaking  and 
creditable  compilation,  not  without  its  passage 
of  originality  and  novelty.  The  value  of  the 
work  is  greatly  enhanced  by  a  convenient  map 
and  exhaustive  index. 

A  series  of  similar  volumes  treating  with 
equal  skill  and  authority  other  world-cities 
would  be  worth  a  place  on  the  book  shelves  of 

230 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

everyone  who  strives  to  be  on  ordinarily  fa- 
miliar terms  with  the  world  in  which  we  live." 
— The  Chicago  Journal. 

^'This  would  make  a  royal  gift-book  for 
Christmas.  Lovers  of  Florence,  no  less  than 
lovers  of  poetry  and  art,  will  revel  in  its  sump- 
tuous pages. 

It  is  a  beautiful  book,  compiled  with  infinite 
painstaking  and  lavishly  illustrated  with  fine, 
full-page  half-tones  of  the  notable  paintings  in 
the  various  galleries  of  Florence.  The  history 
of  Florence  and  of  its  great  historic  person- 
ages, is  set  forth  in  prose  and  poem  with  a  con- 
tinuity and  charm  of  selection  from  the  best 
authors,  modern  and  medieval — from  Dante  to 
Dickens — that  speak  well  for  the  scholarship, 
the  literary  discernment,  the  omniverous  in- 
dustry and  the  infinitely  good  taste  of  Miss 
Eyan. 

No  word  on  Florence  is  left  unsaid.  Its  fas- 
cinating story  is  revealed.  Its  galleries  are 
ransacked  to  give  us  the  best  of  its  art.  Its 
poets  and  artists  and  warriors  and  statesmen 
are  made  to  re-live  in  Miss  E-yan's  pages. 

*  Florence  in  Poetry,  History  and  Art'  is  a 
book  to  read  and  re-read,  to  handle  reverently, 
and  to  treasure  with  care. 

We  know  of  nothing  that  to  scholar,  student, 
or  literary  person,  would  be  more  acceptable 
as  a  Christmas  gift." — The  Rosary  Magazine. 

231 


Florence 

CardinaPs  Residence, 

408  N.  Charles  St., 
Baltimore,  April  10,  1916. 
Dear  Miss  Ryan: 

His  eminence.  Cardinal  Gibbons  directs  me 
to  say  that  he  has  quickly  looked  over  the 
copy  of  ** Florence  in  Poetry,  History  and  Art" 
and  found  it  very  pleasing  and  interesting.  He 
thanks  you  for  your  kind  thought  in  sending  the 
volume  to  him. 

Faithfully  yours, 

E,  J.  Connelly, 
Asst.  Secy. 

P.  S. — Please  find  enclosed  check  to  cover 
expense  of  sending  book. 


452  Madison  Ave., 
New  York,  Dec.  19, 1916. 
Dear  Miss  Ryan: 

His  eminence.  Cardinal  Farley,  directs  me  to 
state  in  answer  to  your  letter  of  Dec.  11,  that 
he  will  take  the  volume  **  Florence  in  Poetry, 
History  and  Art'*  with  which  he  is  greatly 
pleased. 

His  Eminence  would  like  you  to  send  four 
(4)  more  copies  and  with  them  your  bill  (re- 
tail) for  the  five. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Thomas  G.  Carroll, 

Secretary. 

232 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 


From  His  Grace,  the  Most  Reverend  John 
Ireland,  Archbishop  of  St.  Paul, 

St.  Paul,  Oct.  4,  1916. 
Madam : 

I  enclose  a  check  for  two  copies  of  your 
book — one  which  you  have  sent  me,  another 
which  you  will  please  send  to  me.  The  book 
is  admirably  written,  giving  a  true  description 
of  fair  Florence,  amid  splendid  flashes  of  a 
poetic  imagination.  Your  grouping  of  extracts 
from  different  authors  touching  upon  men  and 
things  in  old  Florence  gives  to  the  whole  nar- 
rative a  richness  which  charms  the  reader  while 
putting  before  him  succinctly  an  immense  vol- 
ume of  choice  literature.  Your  treatment  of 
Galileo  is  very  good,  very  clever. 
Very  sincerely, 

John  Ireland. 


From  the  Revered  Late  Archbishop  Spalding. 

Peoria,  Nov.  24,  1915. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Eyan, 
Dear  Miss  Ryan: 

Please  accept  my  sincere  thanks  for  the  vol- 
ume you  have  so  kindly  sent  to  me. 

It  is  a  valuable  contribution  to  Religion  and 
Art.    I  enclose  a  check  for  five  dollars. 
Very  sincerely  yours, 

J.  L.  Spalding. 
233 


Florence 

Archbishop's  House, 
St.  Louis,  Nov.  16,  1916. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Ryan, 

Your  letter  of  the  13th  inst.  to  hand,  as  also 
your  book  entitled,  ^^  Florence  in  Poetry,  His- 
tory and  Art,''  which  you  were  kind  enough 
to  forward  to  me. 

I  shall  be  very  glad  at  my  leisure  to  read 
this  beautiful  work  of  yours,  and  in  the  mean- 
time you  will  accept  the  enclosed  check  in  pay- 
ment thereof. 

With  all  good  wishes,  I  remain 
Yours  sincerely, 

John  J,  Glennon, 
Archbishop  of  St.  Louis. 

Bishop's  House, 
1035  Delaware  Ave., 
Buffalo,  N.  Y.,  Dec.  14, 1916. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Ryan,  Chicago,  111. 
My  dear  Miss  Ryan : 

Enclosed  please  find  check  to  pay  for  a 
copy  of  your  book  entitled  ^  ^  Florence  in  Poetry, 
History  and  Art."  I  have  not  has  as  yet  the 
time  to  read  it,  but  I  must  congratulate  you 
upon  the  appearance  it  makes;  it  is  certainly 
a  beautiful  looking  book,  and  I  promise  myself 
a  treat  whenever  I  get  time  to  read  it. 
Very  sincerely  yours, 

D.  J.  Dougherty, 
Bishop  of  Buffalo. 

234 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 


Saint  Vincent  College, 
Beatty,  Penn.,  Sept.  14,  1916. 
My  dear  Miss  Ryan: 

The  Rt.  Rev.  Archabbot  has  instructed  me 
to  thank  you  in  his  name  for  the  volume  you 
sent  for  his  inspection. 

He  considers  your  work  *^  Florence  in 
Poetry,  History  and  Art''  a  very  scholarly  per- 
formance. The  poetic  passages,  in  particular, 
show  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  loci 
classici  bearing  on  your  subject  and  excep- 
tional taste  in  selection.  I  beg  to  enclose  check 
for  the  volume  sent  and  for  another  copy  to 
be  addressed  to  St.  Vincent  Abbey  Library. 

With  best  wishes  for  the  success  of  your  lit- 
erary venture,  I  remain 

Yours  very  truly, 

Fr.  Callistus,  0.  8.  B, 

The  St.  Paul  Seminary, 

Groveland  Park, 
St.  Paul,  Minn.,  Sept.  12,  1916. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Ryan,  Chicago,  111. 
Madam : 

I  have  received  your  beautiful  book  on  Flor- 
ence and  read  part  of  it.    You  may  send  your 
bill  for  it  to  Rev.  John  Seligkar,  Ph.  D.,  our 
librarian  to  whom  I  submitted  it  for  approval. 
I  beg  to  remain 

Respectfully, 

L.  J.  Schaffer, 

235 


Florence 

Loretto  Academy, 
Niagara  Falls,  Canada,  Dec.  11, 1916. 
Miss  S.  A.  Ryan,  Chicago,  111. 
Dear  Miss  Ryan: 

Our  librarian  has  perused  the  choice  volume 
and  is  enthusiastic  over  its  contents.  She  con- 
siders it  an  invaluable  addition  to  our  library. 
With  the  accompanying  check  I  offer  you 
heartfelt  congratulations  on  a  literary  and  ar- 
tistic production,  revealing  vast  research,  and 
interesting  from  first  page  to  last. 

Thanking  you  for  the  pleasure  and  enlight- 
enment provided  by  your  splendid  work,  and 
wishing  you  abundant  success  in  your  enter- 
prise, I  am. 

Very  sincerely  in  J.  C. 

Mother  M.  Eucharia,  Supr., 

Per  M.  B. 

Mount  de  Chantal, 
Wheeling,  W.  Va.,  May  19, 1916. 
Dear  Miss  Ryan: 

Enclosed  please  find  check  in  payment  for 
your  book  **  Florence  in  Poetry,  History  and 
Art.'' 

The  book  is  attractive  in  appearance  and  in- 
structive in  contents  and  it  will  be  an  accept- 
able addition  to  our  library. 

Very  cordially  yours. 
Mother  M.  Gertrude,  V.  J.  &  M, 

Per  A. 
236 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

Villa  Marie  Convent, 

Montreal,  Feb.  2,  1916. 
My  dear  Miss  Eyan: 

Enclosed  is  the  price  of  your  beautiful  book, 
as  the  bill  marks  it. 

You  are  to  be  congratulated  on  bringing  out 
so  magnificent  a  volume.    I  wish  you  the  suc- 
cess of  sale  its  merits  deserve. 
Very  truly  yours, 

Sister  St.  Mary  Caroline, 
Per  S.  Superior. 

St.  Francis  Seminary, 
St.  Francis,  Wis.,  Dec.  14, 1916. 
Dear  Miss  Ryan: 

I  will  keep  your  beautiful  tribute  to  Italian 
Art  ,and  Poetry  and  hereby  send  you  check, 
wishing  you  success  and  God's  blessing  on  your 
noble  endeavor  to  do  justice  to  the  ^^ages  of 
Faith.''  Yours  sincerely, 

J.  Rainer,  V.  G. 

Holy  Cross  Academy,  Dumbarton, 
Washington,  D.  C,  Nov.  11,  1915. 
My  dear  Miss  Ryan: 

Your  book  is  beautifully  arranged  and  the 
illustrations  very  fine.    If  time  is  ever  mine  I 
shall  take  pleasure  in  reading  it. 
Please  send  receipt  to 

Yours  truly  in  J.  M.  J., 
Sister  M.  Bertilde. 

237 


Florence 

Seminary  of  Our  Lady  of  Angels, 
Niagara  University,  N.  Y.,  May  13,  1916. 
Miss  Sara  A.  Ryan, 
Dear  Miss  Ryan: 

In  sending  you  the  enclosed  check  for  the 
copy  of  ''Florence  in  History,  Poetry  and 
Art,''  which  you  mailed  me,  I  wish  also  to 
congratulate  you  on  the  production  of  so  fas- 
cinating a  work.  It  will,  I  trust,  receive  a  cor- 
dial welcome  from  all  lovers  of  Italian  Art  and 
Poetry,  and  those  who  have  not  enjoyed  a  visit 
to  this  far-famed  historic  city  can  read  your 
book  with  much  pleasure  and  profit. 

To  those  who  have  been  there,  the  perusal 
of  the  book  will  be  to  live  over  again  a  visit 
never  to  be  forgotten. 

Very  respectfully  yours, 

M.  A.  Drennan,  C.  M. 

Office  of  the  President, 
St.  Viator  College. 
Bourbonnais,  111.,  Oct.  8,  1915. 
Miss  Sara  A.  Ryan,  Chicago,  111. 
My  dear  Miss  Ryan: 

Enclosed  you  will  find  check  for  the  copy  of 
your  book  ''Florence  in  Poetry,  History  and 
Art.'' 

Hoping  that  there  will  be  a  proportional  de- 
mand for  your  splendid  work,  I  remain 
Very  truly  yours, 
J.  P.  O'Mahoney.CS.  V. 

238 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

College  and  Academy  of  the 
Immaculate  Word, 

Alamo  Heights, 
San  Antonio,  Texas,  Mar.  29, 1916. 
Dear  Miss  Ryan : 

I  am  in  receipt  of  your  book  entitled  **  Flor- 
ence in  Poetry,  History  and  Art."  It  will  add 
another  classical  volume  to  our  library  and 
keep  us  in  touch  with  the  greatest  of  the  great. 
I  take  pleasure  in  enclosing  check  and  wish 
God's  blessing  on  your  work.  I  am 
Sincerely  yours, 

Rev.  Mother  AlpJionse, 
Per  Sr.  M.  Sup.  Gen. 

St.  Louis  University, 
Office  of  the  President. 

St.  Louis,  Jan.  30,  1916. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Ryan,  Chicago,  111. 
Dear  Miss  Ryan: 

Being  exceedingly  busy  myself  I  turned  over 
your  book  ''Florence  in  Poetry,  History  and 
Art''  to  our  professor  of  History  and  Art  for 
inspection.  He  speaks  very  highly  of  your 
work. 

I  am  enclosing  a  check  so  kindly  send  me 
another  copy.  Please  too,  to  send  a  receipted 
bill. 

Yours  very  respectfully, 
Barnard  J.  Otting,  8.  J. 

President. 
239 


Florence 

Ursuline  Convent, 
New  Orleans,  Dec.  4,  1915. 
Dear  Miss  Ryan : 

Your  book  entitled  *  *  Florence  in  Poetry,  His- 
tory and  Art ' '  is  certainly  admirably  arranged. 
It  will  fill  a  long  felt  want  in  English  litera- 
ture, and  I  hope  it  will  meet  with  the  hearty 
welcome  it  deserves. 

Enclosed  is  a  check  to  cover  the  price  of  the 
volume  you  sent  for  my  perusal.  I  have  not 
time  at  present  to  read  it,  but  from  a  cursory 
glance  I  gave  its  contents,  I  know  I  shall  enjoy 
it,  as  it  appears  to  be  so  thoroughly  classic. 

I  am  enclosing  the  card  and  clippings  you 
sent.    I  read  them  with  much  satisfaction. 

Wishing  you  every  success  with  your  inter- 
esting work,  I  am  yours  sincerely. 

Mother  St.  Charles,  Sup. 

Convent  of  Notre  Dame, 
321  East  Sixth  Street. 
Cincinnati,  Ohio,  Feb.  5,  1917. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Ryan, 
Dear  Madam: 

We  enclose  a  check  to  cover  cost  of  your 
excellent  book.    We  wish  it  God  speed  on  its 
errand  of  good  to  the  educational  world. 
With  best  wishes  I  am  dear  madam 
Yours  sincerely, 

Sister  Cornelia, 

S.  N.  D. 
240 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

The  Creighton  University, 
College  of  Arts  and  Sciences, 
25th.  &  California  Streets. 
Omaha,  Neb.,  Jan.  25th,  1916. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Ryan, 
Dear  Madam: 

Father  McMenemy,  President  of  the  Univer- 
sity, requests  me  to  convey  to  you  his  sincere 
thanks  for  permitting  him  to  read  the  enclos- 
ures which  I  am  returning  to  you. 

It  affords  me  pleasure  to  enclose  also  a  small 
acknowledgment  of  the  reception  of  your  very 
attractive  book  on  ^^ Florence,'^  which  we  shall 
be  glad  to  add  to  the  University  library. 
Yours  very  sincerely, 
William  T,  Kinsella,  8.  J., 

Librarian. 

Holy  Cross  Academy,  Dumbarton, 
Washington,  D.  C,  Dec.  19,  1915. 
My  dear  Miss  Ryan: 

I  have  decided  to  make  Xmas  gifts  of  your 
book  to  two  special  friends — so  please  send  me 
another  copy — of  course  I  will  be  minus  my  own 
copy,  but  just  now  I  don't  feel  like  investing 
in  another  copy. 

I  have  not  had  time  to  read  much  in  it,  but 
its  makeup  is  beautiful. 
Please  send  at  once. 

Yours  in  haste. 

Sister  M.  Bertilde. 

241 


Florence 


Trinity  College, 
Washington,  D.  C,  Feb.  15,  1916. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Ryan, 
Dear  Miss  Ryan: 

Sister  Superior  bids  me  tell  you  that  she  likes 
very  much  your  book  on  ^'Florence  in  Poetry, 
History  and  Art.'^  She  will  keep  the  copy 
sent  her  for  examination  and  will  be  glad  to 
have  another  copy  mailed  at  your  earliest  con- 
venience to  Sister  Superior  Mary  Borgia,  Con- 
ent  of  Notre  Dame,  Newton  Street,  Waltham, 
Massachusetts. 

Kindly  mail  the  bill  for  both  to  Trinity  Col- 
lege, and  our  treasurer  will  settle  it  at  once. 

The  illustrations  of  your  beautiful  book  are 
of  special  interest  to  Trinity  College,  since 
our  O'Connor  Art  Gallery  contains  fine  copies 
of  many  of  the  great  pictures  in  Florence. 
Sometime  when  you  are  in  Washington  come  in 
and  see  us. 

This  copy  of  the  book  has  been  given  me  for 
the  library  and  I  am  happy  to  have  it  at  hand. 

With  all  good  wishes,  dear  Miss  Ryan,  I  re- 
main 

Sincerely  yours, 

Sister  Mary  Patricia, 
S.  N.  D. 


242 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

Jesuits'  College,  140  Baronne  St. 
New  Orleans,  La.,  Feb.  5,  1916. 
Miss  S.  A.  Eyan, 
Dear  Miss  Eyan : 

I  have  made  an  all  day  trip  through  Florence 
with  your  interesting  ^  ^  Florence  in  Poetry,  His- 
tory and  Art. ' '  Needless  to  say,  I  was  greatly 
pleased.  Your  work  deserves  unstinted  praise 
and  I  hope  many  will  be  as  delighted  as  I  was 
in  the  perusal.  I  enclose  a  small  donation  and 
wish  I  could  send  you  a  large  one.  I  remain 
Eespectfully, 

John  D.  Foulkes,  8.  J. 

Academy  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
Eden  Hall,  Torresdale,  Pa. 
December  16,  1916. 
My  dear  Miss  Eyan: 

In  answer  to  your  letter  of  December  9th,  I 
am  happy  to  say  that  we  have  had  a  copy  of 
** Florence  in  Poetry,  History  and  Art"  in  our 
library  ever  since  its  publication,  and  have 
found  it  most  suggestive  and  helpful,  greatly 
in  demand  amongst  those  of  our  children  who 
study  the  History  of  Art. 

I  trust  you  will  be  successful  in  making  your 
book  more  generally  known  in  this  part  of  the 
country. 

Sincerely  yours, 
Per  E.  C.  B.  Burnett,  B.  S.  H. 

Enclosed  please  find  check  for  book  sent. 
243 


Florence 

St.  Mary's  College, 
Notre  Dame,  Indiana. 
My  dear  Miss  Ryan: 

Reverend  Mother  is   so  pleased  with  your 
book  ''Florence  in  Poetry,  History  and  Art'* 
that  she  is  going  to  have  it  reviewed  in  the 
college  paper,  ''The  Chimes.*' 
Cordially  yours, 

Sister  Mary  Willihrord. 

Ursuline  College  and  Academy. 
Springfield,  111.,  Feb.  5,  1916. 
Miss  Sara  Ryan, 
Dear  Miss  Ryan: 

Enclosed  please  find  check  in  payment  for 
your  book  "Florence  in  Poetry,  History  and 
Art." 

It  certainly  does  honor  to  its  author. 
Respectfully, 
Sister  M.  Angela,  Superior, 

Seton  Hill  Schools. 
Greensbury,  Penn.,  Jan.  31,  1917. 
My  dear  Miss  Ryan: 

Please  find  enclosed  my  check  in  payment  of 
your  very  charming  work  on  "Florence  in 
Poetry,  History  and  Art.** 

Wishing  you  continued  success  in  your  lit- 
erary efforts,  I  am 

Very  truly  yours. 

Sister  M.  Francesca. 

244 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

Holy  Cross  College 
Brookland,  D.  C. 
Dear  Miss  Eyan : 

I  enclose  P.  0.  order  for  the  book  on  Flor- 
ence. I  shall  put  it  on  the  library  table  and  do 
what  I  can  to  widen  its  circulation,  by  calling 
the  attention  of  others  to  its  excellence. 

Thanking  you  for  sending  me  the  work,  I  am 
Very  truly  yours, 

J.  A,  Burns,  C.  S.  C. 

Convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
Manhattanville,  City  of  New  York. 
February  15, 1917. 
Dear  Miss  Eyan  : 

Eeverend  Mother  has  been  away  from  home ; 
she  tells  me  now  to  ask  you  to  send  her  two 
other   copies   of  your   book,   which   she   finds 
planned  in  a  helpful  manner  for  the  student. 
Sincerely  yours, 

E.  M.  Kenny,  Sec'y. 

College  of  Saint  Elizabeth, 
Convent  Station,  New  Jersey. 
Dec.  14, 1915. 
My  Dear  Miss  Eyan: 

Your  copy  of  ^  ^  Florence  in  Poetry ' '  was  duly 
received.  Kindly  send  me  three  more  copies. 
Send  bill  to 

Yours  truly. 

Sister  M.  Pauline. 

245 


Florence 

Saint  Mary^s  College  and  Academy- 
Monroe,  Mich.,  Nov.  18, 1915. 
Please  find  draft  in  payment  for  the  book  on 
Florence   sent  us  recently.     The  matter   and 
illustrations  make  your  book  very  interesting 
and  attractive. 

Very  sincerely. 

Mother  Superior. 

Georgetown  Convent 
1500  35th  St.,  Washington,  D.  C. 
Miss  Ryan : 

I  find  our  check  was  sent  to  you  without  a 
line.  We  are  pleased  to  have  your  book  for  the 
Art  Class. 

Yours  in  Corde  Jesu, 
Sr.  M,  Benedicta  Mullen,  Superior. 

J.  M.  J. 

Ursuline  Nuns, 
Toledo,  Ohio,  Dec.  17, 1915. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Eyan,  Chicago. 
My  Dear  Miss  Eyan : 

I  beg  your  pardon  for  my  neglect  in  return- 
ing your  precious  criticisms. 

The  book  speaks  for  itself.    It  is  a  treasury 
of  Art.     Trusting  the  Christmas  season  may 
bring  you  many  purchasers,  I  am 
Yours  gratefully, 

Sister  Mary  Bernard. 
Enclosed  find  check. 

246 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

J.  M.  J. 

St.  Joseph's  Academy, 
St.  Louis,  Mo.   February  24, 1917. 
Dear  Miss  Ryan : 

Kindly  pardon  my  delay  in  returning  your 
good  testimonials  and  the  remittance  for  your 
very  good  book,  ^^  Florence  in  Poetry,  History 
and  Art." 

I  am  sure  we  shall  enjoy  it  thoroughly  and 
derive  profit  from  it.  There  is  much  that  is 
valuable  to  teachers  and  students  gathered  into 
small  compass  and  given  a  beautiful  setting  by 
your  labor  and  talent. 

May  you  find  full  measure  of  success  in  put- 
ting your  book  where  it  will  help  others. 
Yours  sincerely, 

Sr.  Agnes  Gonzaga  Uyan. 
Kindly  send  me  another  copy. 

Board  of  Education, 
City  of  Chicago,  May  26, 1913. 
My  Dear  Miss  Ryan: 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  see  one  of  our  Chi- 
cago teachers  publishing  a  piece  of  work  so 
meritorious  as  is  your  ^^  Florence  in  Poetry, 
History  and  Art."  I  seem  to  have  been  revisit- 
ing Florence,  carried  back  by  the  pages  of  your 
book. 

Very  truly  yours, 

Ella  Flagg  Young, 
Superintendent  of  Schools. 

247 


Florence 

St.  Joseph's  Seminary, 
Troy,  N.  Y.    Feb.  22,  1917. 
My  Dear  Miss  Ryan : 

We  greatly  appreciate  your  splendid  work  on 
Florence  and  regret  that  we  cannot  just  now 
take  several  copies. 

Enclosed  please  find  check  for  the  copy  sent. 
Eespectfully  yours, 
Per  F  C  Mother  M.  Irene. 

Redemptorist  Fathers, 
Immaculate  Conception  Seminary, 
Oconomowoc,  Wisconsin. 
June  6,  1913. 
Rev.  P.  E.  Foerster,  C.  SS.  R., 
Rector  St.  Alphonsus  Church,  Chicago. 
Reverend  and  Dear  Father : 

A  hundred  thanks  for  your  kind  gift,  **  Flor- 
ence in  Poetry,  History  and  Arf  It  is  the 
first  addition  to  the  Art  department  of  our 
library  since  coming  to  Oconomowoc.  The 
volume  is  worthy  of  the  matter  treated,  which 
is  saying  much,  for  Florence  was  the  flower  of 
the  Renaissance. 

It  is  a  happy  way  of  treating  Art  Masters — 
to  have  Masters  of  kindred  Arts  describe  them. 
I  wish  to  thank  you  again  for  the  gift. 

Pardon  my  delay  in  acknowledging  it,  but  I 
was  desirous  of  reading  the  book  before  writ- 
ing. I  intend,  as  soon  as  class  closes,  to  make 
myself  better  acquainted  with  the  heirlooms  of 

248 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

the  ^^City  of  the  Medici, '^  and  shall  take  Miss 
Sara  Agnes  Eyan  as  my  guide. 
Again  thanking  yon,  I  remain 

Your  grateful  Confrere, 

T.  F.  Kenny,  C.  88.  R. 

De  Paul  University,  1010  Webster  Ave., 
Chicago,  Illinois,  June  3,  1913. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Ryan, 
Chicago,  Illinois. 
My  Dear  Miss  Ryan : 

I  must  crave  your  pardon  for  not  acknowl- 
edging your  handsome  gift  before  this.  I  know 
that  you  will  forgive  my  seeming  neglect.  I 
assure  you  I  will  treasure  your  gift.  I  hope  it 
will  be  read  by  many  who  will  learn  from  its 
pages  the  religious  inspiration  that  guided  the 
doers  of  the  deeds  recorded  in  its  pages.  The 
volume  will  be  very  useful  to  me  in  my  work  in 
the  University. 

As  to  any  kindness  shown  by  me  in  the  time 
of  sorrow,  I  beg  to  assure  you  that  I  have 
always  felt  that  I  never  could  do  enough  to 
honor  one  whose  life  has  been  spent  in  so  noble 
a  cause  as  that  in  which  your  dear  departed  sis- 
ter. Sister  Mary  Priscilla,  sacrificed  her  life. 

Hoping  you  will  accept  my  apologies  because 
of  my  many  duties,  and  thanking  you  sincerely, 
I  beg  to  remain 

Yours  devotedly, 

F.  X.  McCahe,  C.  M,,  LL.  D. 

249 


Florence 

From  the  late  Rev.  Father  Mullaney,  pastor 
of  St.  John's  Church,  Syracuse,  N.  Y.  Father 
Mullaney  was  a  brother  of  the  late  Brother 
Azarias,  the  gifted  literateur.  He  himself 
wrote  a  ^^Life  of  Dante''  and  he  was  very 
familiar  with  Florence. 

St.  John's  Rectory, 
Syracuse,  N.  Y.,  December  15,  1914. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Ryan,  Chicago,  Illinois, 
My  Dear  Miss  Ryan : 

Kindly  send  to  me  25  copies  of  your  beautiful 
*^ Florence  in   Poetry,   History  and   Art."     I 
w^ant  these  copies  for  our  teaching  Sisters. 
With  best  wishes,  I  remain 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

John  F.  Mullaney. 

St.  John's  Rectory, 
Syracuse,  N.  Y.,  January  27,  1915. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Ryan,  Chicago,  Illinois. 
My  Dear  Miss  Ryan : 

Enclosed  please  find  check  for  the  amount 
rendered  for  ^^ Beautiful  Florence."  Most  of 
these  books  I  have  sent  to  non-Catholics,  and  I 
am  sure  they  must  be  very  much  pleased  with 
scholarship,  binding  and  general  make-up  of 
the  book. 

I  trust  you  will  find  encouragement  to  bring 
out  other  books  of  the  same  style  and  finish. 
Wishing  you  every  success,  I  remain 
Sincerely  yours  in  Christ, 

John  J.  Mullaney. 
250 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

From  Rev.  George  A.  Thomas,  C.  SS.  R., 
pastor  of  St.  Alphonsus  Church,  Chicago,  111. 

*^I  read  the  book  with  care  and  with  pure, 
genuine  pleasure  and  I  am  sincere  when  I  say 
you  have  done  your  work  well.  I  do  not  doubt 
that  it  will  be  appreciated  by  all  lovers  of  art, 
and  I  hope  it  will  find  its  way  into  the  homes 
and  libraries  of  all  classes  of  people. ' ' 

From  the  widow  of  Richard  Watson  Gilder, 
the  poet  and  late  editor  of  the  Century  Maga- 
zine. Mrs.  Gilder  herself  was  a  literateur  and 
an  artist  of  merit : 

24  Gramercy  Park, 
New  York,  N.  Y.,  June  13,  1913. 
Dear  Miss  Ryan : 

Thank  you  for  your  pretty  book  of  pictures 
and  poems  of  beautiful  Florence.  I  am  going 
to  ask  you  to  send  one  to  my  niece,  Contessa 
Edith  Rucellai,  Campi  Bizenzio,  Florence,  Italy. 
It  was  at  the  Rucellai  Villa  (about  ^ve  miles 
from  the  Duomo)  that  Mr.  Gilder  wrote  his  ^^A 
Day  in  Tuscany'' — P.  295.  I  think  they  would 
like  to  have  the  book  for  their  lovely  American- 
Italian  children.  With  thanks. 
Sincerely  yours, 

Helena  Be  Kay  Gilder. 

Please  let  me  know  how  much  I  owe  for  the 
book  and  postage  to  *^Four  Brooks  Farm,''  Lee, 
Mass.,  and  greatly  oblige  me.  H.  G. 

251 


Florence 

From  Mr.  John  Albee,  author  and  philos- 
opher, a  member  of  the  Concord  School  of 
Philosophy.  He  wrote  ^^Remembrances  of 
Emerson'': 

Silver  Lake,  N.  H.,  June  15, 1913. 
My  Dear  Miss  Ryan ; 

You  must  excuse  my  long  delay  in  acknowl- 
edgment of  your  beautiful  volume  on  Florence. 
I  am  sure  you  will  excuse  me  when  I  tell  you 
I  am  an  invalid. 

I  can  read,  but  have  very  few  days  when  I  am 
able  to  write.  I  have  read  your  book  and 
enjoyed  it  very  much.  It  seems  to  me  its  prose 
and  verse  are  happily  combined  and  arranged, 
and  no  good  reader  can  fail  to  obtain  an  excel- 
lent general  view  of  Italian  Art  and  Literature. 

From  a  winter's  residence  in  Rome  I  learned 
something  of  Italian  Art,  but  I  am  shamefully 
ignorant  of  Italian  literature.  I  know  merely 
names  and  what  they  stand  for,  so  I  was 
impressed  by  your  copious  quotations. 

I  hope  your  work  will  have  great  success, 
such  as  it  deserves  by  its  fruitful  studies. 

With  thanks  for  your  book  and  best  wishes 
for  all  your  pen  finds  to  do,  I  am 
Cordially  yours, 

J.  Alhee. 


252 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

American  Library  Association, 

Publishing  Board, 
Chicago,  Illinois,  June  5,  1913. 
A.  L.  A.  Periodical  Cards. 
Wm.  Stetson  Merrill,  Editor. 
The  Newberry  Library,  Chicago. 
Dear  Miss  Eyan  : 

I  have  seen  a  copy  of  your  book  of  Florence 
and  congratulate  you  upon  it.    I  have  recom- 
mended its  purchase  by  the  Newberry  Library. 
Yours  sincerely, 

Wm.  Stetson  Merrill. 

^'Miss  R^^an  has  charmingly  described  the 
city  of  her  love  and  of  her  pride.'' — American 
Art  News. 

*'It  is  a  sample  of  high-class  book-making.'' 
— W.  Doxey,  Editorial  Dept.  Rand,  McNally 
Co.,  Chicago. 


Many  more  letters  of  appreciation  equally 
cordial  were  received,  but  unfortunately  they 
were  mislaid  before  copies  of  them  were 
secured.  Nevertheless,  the  senders  may  be 
assured  of  their  grateful  reception. 


253 


Florence 

Among  the  subscribers  for  the  book  are  the 
following : 

The  Catholic  University  of  America,  Wash- 
ington, D.  C. 

Academy  of  the  Visitation,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Holy  Cross  Academy,  Dumbarton,  Washing- 
ton, D.  C. 

St.  Cecilia's  Academy,  Washington,  D.  C. 

College  of  the  Holy  Cross,  Washington,  D.  C. 

St.  John's  College,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Gonzaga  College,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Georgetown    Academy    of    the    Visitation, 
Washington,  D.  C. 

Georgetown  University,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Trinity  College,  AVashington,  D.  C. 

Mt.   De   Sales   Academy   of   the   Visitation, 
Catonsville,  Baltimore,  Md. 

Notre  Dame  of  Maryland  College,  Baltimore, 
Maryland. 

Mt.  St.  Mary's  Seminary,  Emmitsburg,  Md. 

St.  Joseph's  College,  Emmitsburg,  Md. 

Convent   of   the    Sacred    Heart,    Rochester, 
N.  Y. 

Nazareth  Academy  and  Convent,  Rochester, 
N.  Y. 

Convent    of    the    Sacred    Heart,    Kenwood, 
Albany,  N.  Y. 

Academy  of  the  Sisters  of  the  Holy  Names, 
Albany,  N.  Y. 

Seminary  of  Our  Lady  of  Angels,  Niagara 
University,  N.  Y. 

254 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

St.  Joseph's  Seminary,  Troy,  N.  Y. 

St.  John's  College,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 

Marymount  Academy,  Tarrytown-on-the- 
Hudson,  N.  Y. 

Mt.  St.  Vincent-on-the-Hudson,  New  York 
City,  N.  Y. 

Academy  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  University 
Av.,  N.  Y.  city. 

Convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  Manhattanville, 
City  of  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Mt.  Mercy  Academy,  Cazenovia  Park,  Buf- 
falo, N.  Y. 

Holy  Angels  Academy,  Buffalo,  N.  Y. 

Mt.  St.  Mary-on-the-Hudson,  Newburgh,  Buf- 
falo, N.  Y. 

Ladycliff-on-Hudson  Academy,  Highland 
Falls,  N.  Y. 

Mt.  St.  Joseph  Collegiate  Institute,  Chestnut 
Hill,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

St.  Mary's  Academy,  Logan,  Philadelphia, 
Pa. 

Academy  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  Philadelphia, 
Pa. 

Academy  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  Eden  Hall, 
Torresdale,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

St.  Vincent's  College,  Beatty,  Pa. 

St.  Xavier's  Academy,  Beatty,  Pa. 

Mt.  Aloysius  Academy,  Cresson,  Cambria 
County,  Pa. 

St.  Mary's  Convent,  Mt.  Mercy,  Pitts- 
burgh, Pa. 

255 


Florence 

Ursuline  Convent  and  Mother  House,  Pitts- 
burgh, Pa. 

Sacred  Heart  Academy,  Lancaster,  Pa. 

Villa  Maria,  West  Chester,  Pa. 

Duquesne  University,  Pittsburgh,  Pa. 

St.  Joseph's  Academy  of  Music  and  Art, 
Seton  Hill,  Greensburg,  Pa. 

St.  Joseph's  Convent,  St.  Mary's,  Pa. 

Mt.  de  Chantal  Academy,  Wheeling,  W.  Va. 

Notre  Dame  Academy,  Boston,  Mass. 

Notre  Dame  Academy,  Roxbury,  Mass. 

Holy  Cross  College,  Worcester,  Mass. 

Notre  Dame  Convent,  Waltham,  Mass. 

St.  Elizabeth  College,  Convent  Station,  N.  J. 

Mount  St.  Dominic  Academy,  Caldwell,  N.  J. 

College  of  the  Immaculate  Conception,  Mt. 
Maria,  Canton,  Ohio. 

Notre  Dame  Academy,  Dayton,  Ohio. 

Notre  Dame  Academy,  Hamilton,  Ohio. 

Notre  Dame  Convent,  Grandin  Road,  Cincin- 
nati, Ohio. 

Notre  Dame  Convent,  Court  St.,  Cincinnati, 
Ohio. 

Passionist  Monastery  of  the  Holy  Cross,  Cin- 
cinnati, Ohio. 

Convent  of  Notre  Dame,  East  Sixth  Street, 
Cincinnati,  Ohio. 

St.  Xaxier's  College,  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 

College  and  Academy  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
Cincinnati,  Ohio. 

Ursuline    Academy    of    the    Holy    Name, 

Youngstown,  0. 

^  '  256 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

Academy  of  Our  Lady  of  Lourdes,  Cleveland, 
Ohio. 

St.  Ignatius  College,  Cleveland,  Ohio. 

College  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  Cleveland,  Ohio. 

St.    Mary^s    Ursuline   Academy,    Cleveland, 
Ohio. 

Ursuline    Academy,    St.    Martin's,    Brown 
County,  Ohio. 

Ursuline    Convent    of    the    Sacred    Heart, 
Toledo,  Ohio. 

Ursuline  College,  Tiffin,  Ohio. 

St.  Joseph  Academy,  Columbus,  Ohio. 

College,  St.  Mary's  of  the  Woods,  Indiana. 

St.  John's  Academy,  Indianapolis,  Indiana. 

St.  Mary's  College,  Notre  Dame,  Indiana. 

St.  Joseph's  Academy,  Adrian,  Mich. 

Sacred  Heart  Academy,  Grand  Kapids,  Mich. 

St.  Mary's  College,  Monroe,  Mich. 

University  of  Detroit,  Detroit,  Mich. 

Academy  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  Detroit,  Mich. 

St.  Clara  College,  Sinsinawa  Mound,  Wis. 

Holy  Rosary  Academy,  Corliss,  Wis. 

Sacred  Heart  Academy,  Madison,  Wis. 

St.  Catherine's  Academy,  Racine,  Wis. 

Marquette  University,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

St.  Francis  Seminary,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

Notre  Dame  Convent  and  Boarding  School, 
Milw^aukee,  Wis. 

Campion  College,  Prairie  du  Chien,  Wis. 

De  La  Salle  Institute,  Chicago,  111. 

Academy  of  Our  Lady  of  Providence,  Chi- 
cago, 111. 

257 


Florence 

Convent  of  the  Holy  Child,  Chicago,  111. 

St.  Cyril's  College,  Chicago,  111. 

St.  Mary's  High  School,  Chicago,  111. 

Immaculate  Conception  Convent,  Chicago,  111. 

Loyola  University,  Chicago,  111. 

St.  Ignatius  College,  Chicago,  111. 

St.  Joseph's  Academy  and  College,  Spring- 
field, 111. 

Convent  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Sacred  Heart, 
Springfield,  111. 

Visitation  iVcademy,  Evanston,  111. 

St.  Angela's  Academy,  Morris,  111. 

St.  Viator's  College,  Bourbonnais  Grove,  111. 

Visitation  Academy,  St.  Paul,  Minn. 

St.  Thomas  College,  St.  Paul,  Minn. 

St.  Paul  Seminary,  St.  Paul,  Minn. 

St.  Joseph's  Academy,  St.  Paul,  Minn. 

Holy  Rosary  Convent,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

Mt.  St.  Joseph  College,  Dubuque,  Iowa. 

Immaculate  Conception  Academy,  Daven- 
port, Iowa. 

Ursuline  Academy,  New  Orleans,  La. 

Jesuit  College,  New  Orleans,  La. 

Loretto  Academy,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Academy  of  the  Visitation,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

St.  Louis  University,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Kenrick  Seminary,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Academy  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

St.  Joseph's  Academy,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Arcadia  College  and  Ursuline  Academy, 
Arcadia,  Mo. 

258 


In  Poetry,  History  and  Art. 

Loretto  Heights  Academy,  Loretto,  Colo. 

Mt.  Carmel  Academy,  Wichita,  Kansas. 

College  of  St.  Mary's,  St.  Mary's,  Kansas. 

St.  Mary's  Academy,  Leavenworth,  Kansas. 

Creighton  University,  Omaha,  Neb. 

St.  Mary's  Academy,  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah. 

St.  Mary's  Academy,  Austin,  Texas. 

Ursuline  Academy,  Dallas,  Texas. 

University  of  Dallas,  Dallas,  Texas. 

St.  Agnes  Academy,  Houston,  Texas. 

Academy  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  Galveston, 
Texas. 

Ursuline  Academy,  Galveston,  Texas. 

College  and  Academy  of  the  Incarnate  Word, 
Alamo  Heights,  San  Antonio,  Texas, 

Ursuline  College,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

St.  Patrick's  Academy,  San  Antonio,  Texas. 

College  of  Notre  Dame,  San  Jose,  Calif. 

St.  Ignatius  University,  San  Francisco,  Calif. 

Presentation  Convent,  San  Francisco,  Calif. 

Academy  of  Sacred  Heart,  San  Francisco, 
Calif. 

Ursuline  Community,  Santa  Eosa,  Calif. 

Dominican  College,  San  Rafael,  Calif. 

Academy  of  Our  Lady  of  Peace,  San  Diego, 
Calif. 

College  of  the  Holy  Name,  Oakland,  Calif. 

St.  Mary's  Academy  and  College,  Portland, 
Oregon. 

Loretto  College,  Niagara  Falls,  Canada. 

Villa  Maria  College,  Montreal,  Canada. 

259 


FLORENCE 

IN  POETRY,  HISTORY  AND  ART 

By  Sara  Agnes  Ryan 

with  seventy  beautiful  half- 
tone illustrations,  India  tint,  egg-shell  paper, 
gilt  top,  uncut  leaves,  wrapped  in  waxed  paper 
and  boxed.     Price  $3.50. 

Please  order  direct  from  Miss  Ryan,  832 
Windsor  Ave.,  Chicago,  and  carriage  will  be 
prepaid. 


In  preparation — 

VENICE 

IN  POETRY,  HISTORY  AND  ART 

By  Sara  Agnes  Ryan 


Publishing  Department 

A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co., 

330-352  East  Ohio  Street, 

Chicago,  Illinois.  June  25,  1914. 
Miss  Sara  Agnes  Ryan. 
Dear  Miss  Ryan : 

We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  you 
have  produced  a  very  interesting  work  in 
* '  Venice  in  Poetry,  History  and  Art. ' ' 

Undoubtedly  the  thinking  and  cultured  class 
of  travelers  abroad  will  appreciate  it  when  it 
is  eventually  put  into  book  form. 
Very  truly  yours, 

A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co. 


[THE  END] 


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